


someone you loved

by antisocialslytherinpenguin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pining, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28138617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antisocialslytherinpenguin/pseuds/antisocialslytherinpenguin
Summary: It starts on a warm autumn day in elementary school, with Bucky helping Steve up from a fight, gripping his hands with polished nails. It leads to a dinner with a break-up and a pocketed ring. It leads to a wedding, where one is the groom and the other is a guest. Follow them on their journey from friendship to lovers to something broken, and maybe something new.
Relationships: Becca Barnes/America Chavez, James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Male Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov, Michelle Jones/Ned Leeds/Peter Parker, Miles Morales/Gwen Stacy, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, T'Challa/Sam Wilson (Marvel)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 52
Collections: Not Another Stucky Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter One: September 26th, 1992

**Author's Note:**

> title from lewis capaldi's someone you loved  
> a stucky fic for (not) another stucky big bang! i've been working on this for a while and i'm so excited that it's finally coming to life! a huge thanks to my artist, ibuckybarnes on tumblr, and to all the mods who worked so hard to put this together!  
> rated T for cursing, drinking, and implied sexual content  
> tumblr: bi-turtleduck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: usage of homophobic slurs

There was a new kid in class. Steve was only a few weeks into second grade, but he was pretty sure that the boy with dark hair staring down his desk hadn’t been sitting next to him before Steve went to the library. He slipped into his seat, glancing once more at the boy and slipped his books in his cubby, and peeked at the nametag. James Barnes. It had the same crisp cursive in Sharpie as Steve’s, though the corners of his were already curling up. Steve felt a spurt of confidence and grinned at James, sticking his hand out. 

“Hi, I’m Steve Rogers.” James turned and gave Steve’s hand a long stare, before lifting his gaze to Steve’s face. The more he gawked, the more Steve felt like hightailing it out of the classroom but he wanted to seem a little less like a wilting flower so he waited until James awkwardly shook his hand. 

“I’m James, but you can call me Bucky,” he mumbled in response. 

“Bucky?”

“Nickname from my middle name, Buchanan.” Steve nodded. He could almost see the uncomfortable tension in the air but, well, he’d already gone this far so he wasn’t going to stop now. 

“So,” he said after a few moments, “you’re new here, right? Where’d you move from.” Bucky’s attitude had gone from gruffly polite to toeing the line between hesitant and hostile.

“Shelbyville, Indiana. M’ dad got a job transfer,” Bucky ground out with the grace one would expect from a bored-but-trying-his-best-to-still-be-polite-because-his-mama-raised-him-better-than-

this-but-still-coming-off-as-rude-seven-year-old, clearly ready to end the conversation.

If looks could kill, Bucky’s desk would be six feet under. 

Steve, with nothing more to say and little reason to expect (or want) Bucky to keep talking, turned and stared at the ground, his feet dangling over the tiles. A feeling he recognized as hurt bloomed from the immediate rejection. It was something he was used to from his peers but he was hoping that maybe someone who didn’t know him yet would give him a chance. Instead of sulking over the deep sort of loneliness that only a child can feel, he focused on his nails.

The night before, his mom had pulled out a manicure set she had gotten as a gift from a patient and started wiping the chipped polish off of her nails. “No one’s seen me without polish on my nails for longer than ten minutes since I was a twelve-year-old, Steven,” she’d always chide when she used it. After finishing painting hers a bright red, Steve had tugged at her sleeve and asked her to paint his. She’d seemed hesitant, but quickly smiled and pinched his cheek and pulled his hand into her lap and painted them a dark blue of his choosing. He’d sat and watched TV with her, eyes flitting from the movie to his drying nails splayed out on the table. Now he observed them, bits of glitter shining on his cuticles from where he’d smudged them with impatience. Steve studied them furiously and refused to look up until Ms. Martinelli entered the room and introduced Bucky to the class, who was just as curt with them. 

Steve felt a sinking in his gut when Ms. Martinelli told them to partner up with the desk next to theirs to finish their word problems. As the rest of the room erupted in discussion and laughter, he and Bucky worked in stilted silence, generally ignoring one another. 

“That’s wrong. The answer’s 372, ‘cause it's times twelve, not ten.” Bucky pointed out the question on Steve’s paper. 

Steve felt the tips of his ears turn red and snapped, “I don’t need your help.” He did, however, erase his answer and pencil in what Bucky said. Bucky, who looked a cross between sheepish and annoyed.

“Sorry, I just--” 

“‘S fine.” Steve cut him off, finishing the last problem. He turned his paper over and doodled for the dwindling twenty minutes. He tried not to stare at Bucky as he pulled out a battered paperback with an intensely creased spine. Steve took a peek at the title. Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos. Property of James Bucky Becca Barnes written on the inside cover. The third name was written in bright green gel pen, with a heart next to it. Bucky noticed and flushed, quickly flipping to the first chapter. 

“M’ sister,” he explained, eyes scanning through the page. Steve nodded and continued to aimlessly sketch until Ms. Martinelli dismissed them. He pulled his sketchbook and a pencil from his desk and trailed behind the rest of the class as they rushed out of the building. 

His mom usually let him sit in the local park a few minutes from the school in the afternoons. Steve settled under an oak tree near the empty field, waved to his unofficial babysitter Old Lady D’Souza, and crossed his legs and sketched out the butterfly perching on the dandelion in front of him. After he finished tracing the stem, he looked up from his book to see three muddied sets of sneakers, attached to three nine-year-old boys that thought not caring about school made them cool and interesting, but would soon understand it would deprive them of critical thinking skills, time management, and the ability to hold a conversation about anything other than porn and stolen cigarettes that were smoked often enough to inevitably give them lung cancer for more than seven minutes and that their shitty upbringing wasn’t an excuse to spout and enforce toxic masculinity and homophobia through snarky words and flying fists but rather an opportunity to improve themselves and grow as people and help the people around them flourish, but that was a realization that would occur much, much later. At exactly that moment, however, these boys found Little Stevie Roger’s nail polish hilarious and were ready to tell and show him exactly that. 

“Jesus, I would ask if you’re a fairy but that fuckin’ paint on your nails answers the question,” the taller one scoffed, nudging his lackeys for validation. They provided it, snickering with him as Steve flushed bright red. 

“Look at him with his coloring book, fucking queer.” This time, it was a boy with buck teeth and an inferiority complex, but his remarks earned laughs from his friends. Steve grabbed his sketchbook and clutched it close to his chest as tears welled up in his eyes. Every time he tried to open his mouth and say something, nothing came out. The older kids roared with laughter as they teased and taunted him, then ripped Steve’s sketchbook out of his hands and threw it on the ground. They stomped a bit, for good measure, before pulling back their legs and kicking Steve. He pushed himself backward and scrambled into a standing position, throwing punches whenever and wherever he could. As the three older boys closed in on him, throwing around heckles and slurs, he felt his throat begin to itch and dug through his pocket with one hand for his inhaler. The taller boy who’d approached him wrenched it out of his hand and threw it behind him. The three continued to beat him, and Steve punched as hard as he could with loose fists that made his hands ache. Right as he took a sharp dig in his ribs, he heard a shout and felt a hand pull him to his feet. Steve blinked a few times to regain his vision and looked up to see Bucky Barnes looking down at him with furrowed brows and a frown on his face. 

“Here.” Steve looked down to see Bucky handing Steve his inhaler. There was a bit of grass sticking to it, but it looked generally undamaged. Steve grabbed it and pressed it to his mouth, and felt a surge of relief when he felt the oxygen flood his lungs. He took a few extra inhales for good measure, before shoving it back in his pocket and pulled away from Bucky to lean on the oak tree. He glared up at Bucky.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked, bringing his sleeve up to his nose and wincing at the blood that came with it. 

“‘M mom’s s’posed to pick me up but she was late and told me to c’mere. I saw those idiots hitting you and it didn't’ seem like a fair fight,'' Bucky replied. “Can you walk on yer own?” Steve nodded and pushed himself off the tree. He wobbled for a bit before falling back to lean on it.

“‘M fine,” he muttered as Bucky offered his arm for support, but took it anyway. “Thanks.”

Bucky grinned. “No problem, punk. Why were they hittin’ you, anyway?” Steve blushed and redirected his gaze to the ground.

“‘Cause o’ my nail polish. My ma did it for me yesterday,” he mumbled. Bucky scoffed in response.

“That’s stupid, yer nail polish looks fine. Can yer ma do my nails?” Steve looked up at Bucky in surprise as he limped towards the nearest bench. 

“Uh, yeah, I guess. You can come over now. My house is down that road,” Steve said with a smile. 

“James!” Steve watched as a middle-aged woman with greying dark brown hair and a healthy amount of wrinkles jogged over to the two boys. “You can’t just disappear on me like that! Who’s this?”

“Mo-o-o-m!” Bucky flushed bright red as his mom ruffled his hair. “This is Steve.”

“Well, hello Steve. I’m Winifred Barnes but you can call me Winnie,” she said, giving Steve a wide grin.

“Steve said I can go over to his house and his ma’ll paint my nails just like his. Show her, Stevie.” Steve shyly showed Mrs. Barnes his glittery nails and failed to notice the way her face paled drastically. 

“Well,” she said, her voice strained and noticeably high-pitched, “that’s very sweet of Steve to offer, but we wouldn’t want to cause a fuss.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be a fuss ma’am,” Steve rushed to say; this would be the first time anyone from school came to his house for anything but a birthday party through an invitation extended to everyone in his class who only showed up because their mother wanted to be polite to “poor Sarah Rogers” down the street and her sick little boy. Sarah Rogers took it in stride, fixing them with a sweet smile, impressively engaging small talk, a cup of coffee, and a homemade brownie to-go whether they liked it or not that left them with an inferiority complex a mile wide. Bucky tugged on his mom’s sleeve and gave her what he considered his best puppy and what she considered an absolute weakness. 

“Okay.” she sighed. “I’ll drop you off and meet his mom, and I’ll pick you up at seven.” Mrs. Barnes smiled weakly at her son and prayed that his nails would at least be blue. The trio walked a few blocks before reaching Steve’s apartment building. After climbing three flights of an anxiety-inducingly creaky staircase, they came to a stop in front of crumbling red brick surrounding a peeling white door with 417 shining in bronze. Steve gave it three brisk knocks and after a few moments, Sarah Rogers came to the door. 

There’s no such thing as a perfect mom, but Sarah Rogers came as close as one can get. She was stern, but kind, and loved her son more than anything in the world. It’d been her and Steve for as long as he could remember, but she could still remember a time before that. A time with a crooked smile and floppy brown hair and too many puns. She’d met him at a Silence=Death protest, and the two took off to a hole-in-the-wall diner tucked into a small corner of the city after it ended. They’d bonded over activism and coffee and their love for one another burned bright. They got married after a few years and settled down with a baby boy. Then one day he went to the grocery store and instead of a husband walking back through the door she got a call from the hospital and consolations. Afterward, she’d dealt with the grief and pain and held her son close to her. After the worst of the internal pain, she then had to deal with the condescending looks of fellow parents at her son’s school who preached “Steven needs a father figure,” and always made a point to treat her like a charity case. Sarah always gave them the same tight-lipped smile and made uncomfortably stiff conversation until they left her alone. She made it point to be a good mother for her son, and for herself. Spiting them was just a bonus. She believed in kindness, but not to women who gossiped about her behind her back and scoffed when she ever spoke up against their husbands’ AIDs jokes. Sarah knew what most people’s first judgments of her were, and she resented it. She could recognize a meddlesome, overly protective mother who believed she was doing what was right for her children when she was just hurting them. Sarah knew this because those same kids were the reason her son ran home crying with a bloody nose asking her what a queer is and if he was one. 

**(art by[iBuckyBarnes](https://ibuckybarnes.tumblr.com))**

As soon as she opened the door, she dropped to her knees, and dragged Steve away to the bathroom to clean his wounds and give him a scolding, and hastily apologized to the Barnes as she left them stranded in her neat but cozy living room. Like every time she scolded him about getting hurt, she ended it with a kiss on the top of his head, a warm hug, and a “You worry me, Steve. But promise me when you’re faced with those idiots, if you can’t run, you’ll stand your ground.” He always gave her the same smile and hugged her as tight as he could with his bony arms. Sarah ushered him back to the sitting room and greeted Mrs. Barnes.

“Hello, I’m Steve’s mother, Sarah Rogers. Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked.

“I’m Winifred Barnes, this is James. And no, thank you,” Mrs. Barnes replied with a simper. Behind her, her son piped up with an “I go by Bucky.”

“Ma, can I stay over? I want to get my nails painted like Steve’s,” Bucky said, oblivious to the silent duel being battled with eyes over words. 

“Only if his mom is okay with it, James. I have no issue with it, Sarah. It’s up to you.” 

“Of course, we’d be glad to have him over. When would you like to pick him up, Winifred?” Sarah asked, her voice coated with faux-sweetness. 

“Please,” Mrs. Barnes drawled, “call me Winnie. I’ll get him at six. It was wonderful meeting you. You have a… lovely home.” Her eyes traced the finger paintings on the fridge and the rainbow throw blanket spread on the sofa. 

“Thank you, Winnie,” Sarah said in an icy tone. “I’ll see you soon.” She led Mrs. Barnes to the door in silence as Bucky and Steve erupted in friendly chatter. After letting the boys play with Steve’s Etch A Sketch and talk about whatever it is seven-year-old boys talked about when there were no adults around, she called them into the living room and pulled out her manicure kit.

“Now, Bucky, what color do you want?” she asked, both boys on either side of her as the television served as background noise.

That night, Bucky Barnes went home with bright pink polish on his nails and the hopeful thought that he might finally have a best friend floating in his mind. 

  
  



	2. Chapter Two: February 12th, 1999

It was two days before Valentine’s Day, the hallway was covered with streamers (even though the stupid “holiday” was on a Sunday), and Steve Rogers was dying inside. Okay, so maybe he was being a little dramatic, but really. How can you not die inside when your best friend who you’re harboring complicated feelings (that you choose not to acknowledge but still bubble up and make your stomach twist and your mouth sour every time you see him and you pretend not to know what they are but deep down you know what you’re thinking and you kind of hate yourself for it) for is chatting up a girl right next to your locker. He tried to ignore the way his insides boiled as he watched Bucky lean in and whisper something in her ear as she flushed and giggled, batting her eyelashes at him. Her name was Dorothy, Dottie for short, and she’d transferred to Shield Junior High in November. She and Bucky had been (almost) as inseparable as him and Steve, and they’d been joined at the hip in all of their classes (which happened to be two more classes than Bucky was in with Steve. Not that Steve noticed. It was just hard to not notice when it was all Bucky could talk about. Steve and Bucky only had four classes together; Steve took art and French while Bucky took Band and Spanish, and they were put in different P.E. classes.) Steve sighed and slammed his locker shut, then stormed off to the library. 

It’s not that he didn’t like Dot. She was kind of hard to dislike; she was practically perfect. For a thirteen-year-old girl, she was gorgeous. Dottie had short, blonde hair that fell to her chin with wide blue eyes and freckles dotting her face. She was painstakingly in fashion, wearing striped sweaters and bright patterns with denim jackets and jeans. She was in all the advanced classes and aced every single one of them, and she was nice. She wasn’t overly rude and didn’t try to butt into conversations. She was sweet, and funny, and managed to be one of the best people Steve had ever met. It was awful. 

Steve groaned as he slumped into a seat across from Natasha, and she raised an eyebrow at him before putting down her latest novel, The Idiot, by Fyodor Dostoevsky. 

“Oh look, it’s me.” Natasha snorted and toyed with her bookmark, one of over a hundred in her collection. 

Natasha had moved to their district the summer before sixth grade and had befriended Bucky and Steve quickly. She was an avid reader, and while she loved the classics, her favorite was The Perks of Being a Wallflower, which had only come out a week or so earlier, but she’d dragged Steve to a bookstore and forced him to read it with her. Recently, however, she’d started to put down the books in favor of her karate classes, and though she was still a white belt, she thoroughly enjoyed taunting her friend about how she could beat them in a fight. Not that she needed martial arts for that. She’d always been kind of intimidating, despite her short stature. Natasha stormed around school with combat boots that boosted her height and a glare on her face that showed her classmates how much she didn’t want to know them. While she scared them, they knew better than to assume she was anything more than a literal teddy bear. Nat still slept with stuffed animals and found solace in hugs, but if anyone ever considered her anything but a badass she’d give them a swift kick to the shin and a piece of gum stuck in their locker. The only reason she turned Steve and Bucky’s duo into a trio was because she happened to plop down next to Steve on the first day of art. Ever since, she’d been making fun of them and annoying them constantly. The three of them looked like puzzle pieces that didn’t look like they’d fit, but they did anyway. Bucky always wore soft, pastel sweaters and jeans, with the exception of bright polos in the spring seasons, and Nat and Steve always made fun of the way he styled his hair in a messy coif to make it look like he’d put in no effort. Steve, however, leaned towards the same paint-stained jean jacket and various t-shirts he found on sale at second-hand stores with random puns and graphics. Natasha, though, looked like she could beat half the school up and get away without a scratch on her face or her permanent record. She switched between oversized flannels and leather jackets, and always had a pair of combat boots. No one, not even Steve and Bucky, were sure if red was her natural hair color, but she usually kept it tied back in a braid. Their clashing styles and (seemingly) clashing personalities led to questions and criticism, usually directed towards Nat and Steve, but at the end of the day, they remained each other’s best friends. 

“Hmm, what’s got your panties in a twist?” Nat asked, a smirk lingering on her face. She could read Steve like a book, but she asked for politeness’ sake, and because he’d been acting weird (well, weirder than usual) for a few weeks and she was tired of walking on eggshells around him when she knew exactly what was going on. Nat just wanted him to say it. 

“Nothing.” Steve paused for a minute. “It’s just, I know I’m not normal. I’ve accepted it, embraced it, even. And, even though I’m a weak asthmatic who can’t play sports for shit who has a weird obsession with art, and is heavily dependent on my best friend, Bucky still hangs around. Except, he half-hangs-around, because he’s always with Dottie now and I’d really rather he just stop talking to me in favor of her than doing this awkward limbo where I’m sitting here waiting for him to stop drooling over her and actually speak to me when I know he really doesn’t want to talk to me and just keeps me around out of pity.” He took a deep breath and risked a glance at Natasha. She was staring at him incredulously, and frankly, she was impressed that his asthmatic ass had the lung capacity to spew out his speech that he’d probably been bottling up for months. 

“Alright, let me start with the obvious. Bucky is not friends with you out of pity and I should slap you upside the head for even thinking that. Bucky is friends with you for the same reason I am: you’re an amazing person who deserves all the love in the world. Don’t try to argue with me,” she said as she saw Steve open his mouth, “it’s the truth. We both love hanging out with you, and right now, Bucky is being a hormonal thirteen-year-old boy and is mooning over a girl who he’s practically in love with. It doesn’t mean he likes you any less. And why does it bother you?” Natasha pressed, though she already knew the answer. She just wanted Steve to say it. After a few moments with no response, she asked, “What else did you mean when you said you aren’t normal?” Steve gawked at Nat; he was caught off-guard. 

“What do you mean?” he spluttered.

“Steve.” Natasha raised an eyebrow and gave him A Look™. After seeing his stark-white face, however, she softened her glance. “You know I love you, right? And you know that no matter what, that will never change. And the same goes for your mom, and for Bucky.” They sat together in silence for a few minutes and paid no attention to the students milling around giving them odd looks. 

“Natasha, I’m, I mean I  _ think _ I might be, actually I’m not really sure-- I just-”

“Steve.” Nat cut him off. “It’s okay.” She reached out to hold his hand on the table and gave it a squeeze. Steve took a deep sigh and relaxed his shoulders.

“I like boys. And girls. Is there a word for that?” Natasha nodded.

“Bisexual. There are other words, too. For being attracted to more than one gender.”

“Where’d you learn this stuff?” Steve asked.

“Um, duh? Freddie Mercury, dude. Raging bisexual. He was married to a woman before they divorced and he had a boyfriend up until his passing,” she replied. Steve snort-laughed, eyes shining with unshed tears. 

“Thank you, Nat, really.” 

“Of course, Stevie. I’ll always be here for you. And so will Sarah and Bucky,” she reminded him. 

“Oh god, please don’t call her Sarah. You make it sound like you two are best friends,” he complained with a snicker. Nat raised her eyebrows.

“And who's to say we’re not, Steven? You don’t know what we do when you and Bucky run off to eat ice cream and inevitably come home beat up because you got in a fight you couldn’t win. While you two are being idiots, Sarah and I complain about you and eat ice cream in peace. Then she helps me with my science homework because only a healthcare worker could understand the shit they claim is middle-school biology.” Steve scoffs in agreement. 

“Right? Like, they use the most complicated terms possible without actually teaching us anything about it. I’m not crazy stupid, they totally do that, right?” Natasha nodded. 

“I’m going to point out that you didn’t contradict the statement about you and Bucky being idiots.” Steve sighed with a smile and gave her a light punch in the shoulder and shrugged. 

“I mean, you’re not totally wrong. It’s usually Bucky’s fault, though.” The two joined the rest of the students in packing up their things to head to homeroom, one of the few classes Steve had with Natasha that year. 

“As if. We both know that it’s usually him cleaning up your mess. Actually, scratch that. Sarah’s the one who has to clean your face and all the blood that’s left in the sink after the two of you fuck off to hang out in your room doing god-knows-what,” Nat exclaimed as Steve went bright red. She swung an arm around his shoulder (she was forever grateful that Steve was one of the few people shorter than her so she could gloat about being taller) and dragged him in the direction of Ms. Dormer’s class. “Relax, darling. This is middle school; people have more dire things to worry about, and they don't care enough to eavesdrop on a conversation about your fervent sex life,” Nat announced to the hallway. 

“What’s this about Stevie’s sex life?” Bucky appeared on Steve’s other side with a smirk and Steve groaned, shoving his face in Natasha’s shoulder and sighing dramatically. 

“I hate you both,” he mumbled under their laughter. 

“Finally joined us, huh Barnes? Thought you were too busy trying to fix your dry spell by flirting with your girlfriend,” Natasha teased. Steve squawked. He hated everyone and everything. He was going to evaporate into thin air. He was 99.9% sure his face greatly resembled a tomato, but he had a very valid excuse: his best friends were absolute assholes.

“Excuse me, Natasha. How dare you assume I’d ever have anything resembling a dry spell! I’ll have you know I’m having very avid and frequent lays-”

“Okay, too much information!” Steve cried as his friends laughed at his struggles. “Lord give me strength,” he muttered.

“Oh, shut up. You love us, Steven,” Natasha said knowingly. 

“Yeah, punk. Now get to class, after all, you want to win stellar attendance three years in a row, right?” Bucky ribbed.

“Hey, if Ms. Dormer says it’s an absolute honor and the two of us should follow his--what were her words-- ‘impeccable example of a superb student with an excellent understanding of time-management’.” Natasha said to Bucky over Steve’s bowed heads. 

“How on earth did you remember that verbatim?” he asked with a grin, though it was unheard over his friends’ laughs and, after a failed attempt at stifling his amusement, his own. 

Steve and Bucky walked home together, as they did every day unless Steve was staying after to work on a project. It was Friday, they were done for the week, and Natasha had a meeting with her book club down the street and said she’d join them for game night later that night. Steve was still rattling from his confession in the morning, but it gave him a boost of courage to know that someone knew and accepted every aspect of him.

“Listen, Bucky-”

“Stevie, I-” The two paused and spluttered for the other to go first. “I’ll go,” Bucky said. “Basically, I finally asked Dottie out and we’re going to the diner down the street on Sunday if my ma lets me skip service.” Steve feels his heart sink in his stomach and wants so badly to run away, even if he did see this coming from a mile away, but he doesn’t let it deter him. 

“That’s really great, Bucky-”

“Right?” He grins. “I was so worried, but I really like her, y’know?”

“Yeah, I mean, not really, but-” Steve tried. 

“I mean, she’s so gorgeous, and her eyes are just-”

“Bucky, I’m gay,” Steve blurted. Bucky halted to a stop and Steve squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to whoever was listening that he would make it to the end of this conversation with a best friend. “I mean, not gay. I like girls too, Natasha said I could be bisexual. I think that’s what I am. Bisexual, I mean.” He opened his eyes to see Bucky’s shocked face, his jaw was dropped and everything. “Well? Say something!”

“You told Nat before you told me?” Bucky exclaimed, but there was a smile on his face. Steve rolled his eyes.

“That’s the part you focus on, jerk?”

“You wound me, punk,” Bucky replied, a hand over his heart in mock offense. Steve scoffed and felt a weight lift off his shoulders. 

“Thank you, Buck, for not freaking out. This was really nerve-wracking, and I guess I should’ve known you wouldn’t hate me,” Steve said after a few minutes of silence, and Bucky looked slightly bewildered at the rare heartfelt words. 

“Stevie, you could never do anything to make me hate you. I’m with you forever, ‘til the end of the line,” Bucky replied, pulling Steve in for an awkward hug around their backpacks. The two remained in an embrace in the middle of the sidewalk for far longer than either expected them to, but there was a sort of solace in hugging one another. At any other moment, it might’ve felt weird and slightly uncomfortable, but right then and there, they both knew that if they could stay in that position for the rest of their lives, they’d do it.

After a somewhat belated separation, the two parted ways and Steve practically floated to his apartment and confessed to his mother, who responded with hugs and the promise of cake over the weekend. Bucky, however, felt a sort of thought tugging at his mind for the rest of the day. He didn’t let himself dwell on it, though. He knew what that was, and he couldn’t afford to think about it, even if Steve was like him.


	3. Chapter 3: May 3rd, 2003

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for underage drinking and implied sexual content

The sun was beating down on four teenagers as they shoved various bags in the back of Sam Wilson’s trunk. Sarah Rogers stood in her driveway and fidgeted anxiously with her shirt, surveying the group with a worried eye. 

“Did you guys pack all your things? Your toothbrush, underwear, extra underwear, snacks? It’s a long drive.” Steve sighed and took her hand. 

“Ma, it’s three hours, maybe four if traffic is awful. We’ll be fine, Tony and Bruce said we could crash at their place, and T’Challa and all are going to be there to make sure things don’t get out of hand,” Steve replied to quell her worries. 

“Oh, I’m very comforted by the fact that Wade Wilson is going to be on a trip un-chaperoned. But god, him and Tony? In a room together? Bonding? The city will burn!” Sarah exclaimed. Bucky smirked and used Steve’s shoulder as an armrest. 

“Lord knows how Stark got a scholarship to NYU,” he drawled. Sam rolled his eyes. 

“Just ‘cause you almost got put on the waitlist doesn’t mean you gotta be salty about it,” he teased. Bucky scowled.

“Hey, almost is the keyword there, buddy. And anyway, I’m the one getting an engineering degree. Steve’s going into, what is it again? Painting classes?” Steve narrowed his eyes and gave Bucky a light shove. 

“A double-major in graphic design and art studies, jerk.”

“Okay, can you stop fighting like an old married couple? If we want the best rooms in Stark’s literal mansion, we have to get there before them,” Natasha cut in, slamming the back of the truck shut. 

“Um, I doubt we’ll score them if we’re trying to beat those four with this literal hunk of garbage,” Bucky scoffed, and Sam made an affronted face. 

“Excuse you! Beatrice doesn’t deserve this horrific slander, and it’s not like you have a vehicle of your own to get us downtown.” Bucky scowled but didn’t say anything in response. Sarah tsked at the two boys before turning to Natasha. 

“I’m sorry in advance you have to deal with them. Let me know if you guys need anything.”

“Of course, Sarah. Sam and I’ll swing ‘round for dinner next Sunday, yeah?” Sarah beamed and pulled Natasha in for a hug, who only pulled away when Bucky tried to claim shotgun. “I’m sorry, Bucky, but I cannot deal with the amount of Green Day in your playlists. For someone who dresses like they’re a preppy asshole, your music taste is horrifying,” she said, sliding into the front seat and propping her feet up on the dashboard. 

“Oh, shut up, Nat. If you make me listen to any more Queen, my ears will start bleeding.” Natasha whipped around in her seat to give him a sharp glare. 

“Listen, Barnes, there’s a big difference between your sad emo-boy music and my high-quality 80s rock. So please, for the love of god, stop pretending that you can have any dignity left after listening to Green Day. And anyway, we both know the only reason you started listening to them in the first place was because you heard Gwen Nelson when she was talking about one of their songs and, seeing as you had already decided she was your soulmate, chose to torture your ears to impress her. Except when you tried to bring it up and ask her out to a concert, she rejected you because she thinks, excuse me, _knows_ what a pretentious douchebag you can be. And the only reason you listen to it now is partly to spite her, and partly because you’re praying that one day Gwen Nelson will don her dyed hair, all-black outfits, and nihilistic attitude again and finally go out with you.” The car was silent for a few moments as Sam reversed out of the driveway before him and Steve burst into laughter, and Natasha smirked as Bucky flushed and grumbled under his breath. “Anyways, Sam, can I turn on the radio?” 

“After that speech? Play as much Freddie Mercury as you want.” She flicked it on and turned up the volume, pulling out a novel. Sam and Bucky started an age-old argument over whether or not ghosts are real (Bucky said they were haunting the Earth; Sam said Barnes was a dumbass), and Steve pulled out a sketchbook, and started to trace Natasha’s profile. The rest of the drive continued with various conversations and periods of silence. At one point, Natasha put her book down to refute Bucky’s claim that water is wet with an essay she had written out in her notebook.

“Unfair, how come she only looks up from her book to make me look bad?” Bucky whined.

“Because you make it so easy, Barnes,” Natasha replied with a laugh. 

“Nat would’ve torn you to pieces if she’d been there when you put on that eyeliner,” Steve said, and Natasha turned to Bucky with a look of pure glee. “With a leather jacket, by the way,” he added. Bucky gave him a murderous glare as Natasha lamented about his transition into a goth and the loss of his innocence while Sam and Steve chimed in here and there to watch Bucky go red. 

They reached the Upper East Side after a few hours, and parked in front of an overly grand hotel, before pulling out their ratty, overstuffed backpacks with a week’s worth of clothes, earning looks of disdain from the few people that bothered to pay attention to them. They hauled themselves into the lobby, and asked the concierge to send them up to the penthouse. He gave them a disbelieving look, but before they could get in an argument with him, a loud shout was heard from behind them.

“My favorite minors! I’ll have you know that T’Challa got stuck in traffic, and is currently four minutes from arrival, so get settled upstairs. We have a long night ahead of us, children,” Tony said, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Tony, you do realize that Steve is the only one who hasn’t turned 18? And that you’re technically younger than us because you skipped a grade?” Natasha reminded him and Tony waved off her response, and gestured for them to follow. They squeezed into an elevator and listened to Tony rant about whatever thing was bothering him that day (a redhead in his business class) before leading them into the kitchen, where Bruce, a tall muscled blond man, and a tall girl were talking with him. 

“Thor, it’s been years!” Tony shouted, throwing his arms around the buff viking. The blond man grinned and picked Tony up. 

“Stark, it’s been two days since we went to trivia night,” the girl drawled before turning to the seniors. “I’m Jane Foster, majoring in astrophysics. You guys are Natasha, Steve, Bucky, and Sam, right?”

“You talk about us, Stark? I’m flattered,” Sam teased, shaking Jane’s hand. 

“All terrible things, Wilson. It’s not like there’s anything good to talk about when it comes to you four.” 

“Come on, now, Steve can be an absolute angel,” Natasha said.

“You’re just saying that because he gives you ammo to make fun of me,” Bucky retorted, and Natasha shrugged with a grin. “And anyway, Steve’s a little shit. The only reason he hasn’t gotten expelled is ‘cause Fury knows Erskine would probably retire.”

“I don’t get it that many fights-” Steve was cut off with a laugh from Sam. 

“Dude, I pulled you from a fight last week. And the week before that. And the week before that.”

“Anyways! Natasha, can you help me set up for tonight? There’s a liquor store a few blocks down, and they don’t check IDs,” Bruce said.

“What’s tonight?” 

“Tonight, younglings, is a party!” Tony exclaimed, though his excited tone was met with dead silence. “Okay, a little more enthusiasm please?” 

“Yay,” Bucky deadpanned. 

“Ugh, you people are crazy. But no issue, you’ll regret your blasé attitude tonight. If nothing, Wilson 2 will certainly be more fervent with his excitement, though I might end up with a hole in my wall. Natasha, you and Wilson 1 are sharing the third room down the hall. Buckaroo, you and Cap are taking the fourth.” 

Once the other four showed up, the whole group grabbed lunch at a falafel place before heading back to the house. The afternoon stretched on; Natasha locked Sam out of their shared room to nap peacefully, and Sam and Wade caught a movie with Thor and Jane. Tony disappeared to some project room that had a soundproof door, and T’Challa, Nakia, Okoye, and Bruce prepped the apartment for the storm that was college parties. 

Bucky and Steve retreated to their room, where Steve asked him to pose for a drawing. Bucky couldn’t sit still; his nerves were acting up. For good reason, considering he was planning on coming out to Steve. He’d figured it out a while ago, but he’d never said it out loud to anyone. He’d mouthed it, he’d thought it, but he’d never said it. I’m gay. 

A few hours of comfortable silence had passed when Bucky blurted out, “How come you’ve never done a self-portrait?” Stupid. Steve stills for a moment, before resuming his sketch.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, in all the years I’ve known you, which is a lot of years, you’ve always drawn other people, and animals, and things, but you’ve never drawn yourself. Whether it’s your face or your body, you’ve never attempted to draw yourself. Even in class, you manage to weasel your way out of those projects and avoid it. Why?” Bucky asked.

“When I’m drawing someone else, I focus on something I want to draw attention to. Whether it’s the color of their eyes, the shape of their hair, their smile, their legs, something. Something that my eye is immediately drawn to, and it tends to be their best feature. Or one of them, at least. If I have to draw or paint or focus on myself, physically, for any project, it means I have to focus on my body. And that means I have to focus on every part of my body, every imperfection, and flaw, and everything wrong with it. And there’s a lot wrong with it. Enough wrong with it, that there isn’t a ‘best feature’ for me to focus on. So if I have to draw myself, it forces me to pay attention to how awful I look, y’know?” When Bucky lifted his head to look at Steve, the blond was adamantly sketching, pressing the pencil tip hard against the paper with flushed cheeks. 

“The first thing I would think of is your eyes.” Steve’s head snapped up, eyes wide. Bucky continues, “All big and blue. They seem stormy when you get angry, but usually, they stay icy blue. Then, probably your nose, kind of crooked from all your fights. ‘S got a nostalgia factor too. Your hair, all golden and soft. Your smile, bright and mischievous. You’re crazy if you think you aren’t one of the prettiest people alive.” Bucky smiled softly and didn’t really care about the pink blush painting his cheeks. 

“Bucky, you don’t have to pretend-” Steve started.

“I’m not pretending, I’m not lying. I’m being honest because it’s true. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” Steve grinned and rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder. They sat like that for a few minutes, basking in the silence and Bucky hyping himself up.

“Listen, Steve, I need to tell you something.” Steve sat up and turned to Bucky with furrowed brows and a concerned look. 

“What is it? Is everything okay?” Bucky took a deep breath, bracing himself.

“Steve-” 

“Steve!” Both heads whipped to the door, where Tony stood, face flushed and grin wide. “Hey, party’s starting, in full swing, come grab some food and drinks. You too, Buck,” he added in, almost as an afterthought. That’s nothing new, Bucky thought. The two words died on his tongue and were replaced with a bitter taste.

Bucky nodded, and when Steve asked what he was going to say, he just shook it off, telling him to join the fun, he’d be there in a minute. Steve looked hesitant but was dragged away by Tony before he could protest. Bucky sighed and slumped against the shut door. The lights were off, and the window that once cast hazy sunshine now filled the room with a dim glow of moonlight. He pressed the heels of his palm to his eyes and wasn’t surprised when they came away wet. Bucky sat there for a while, tears dripping down his face without really noticing them and thoughts swimming in his head. He was jolted out of his pity party when someone tried to open the door. 

“Bucky?” Nakia’s muffled voice asked. “Is that you?” Bucky rushed to his feet and wiped his face with his shirt.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute, just gotta use the bathroom,” he called. Bucky waited for the sound of footsteps walking away before he went to wash his face and slipped out of the room to join the crowd, a forced smile on his face. He mingled for a bit, caught up with Bruce, got to know Jane and Thor a bit more, joked around with Wade and Nakia, but mainly avoided Steve. It worked fine, until he spotted, through the throng of drunk college students and in the dim lighting of the apartment, Steve and Tony caught in a liplock, fiercely making out without any care for the people around him. He felt his drink spill onto the floor and dimly registered Natasha tugging on his arm and asking him if he was okay. Bucky snapped back into the party and muttered a quick apology before ducking out of the apartment. He rode the empty elevator down and pushed past annoyed aristocrats to grab some fresh air. He stood outside in the humid heat of a New York summer, watching people go by and taxi drivers scream. Bucky stayed there for a while, trying to distance himself from the loud, anxiety-inducing, painful-to-bear party until someone mistook him for a bellboy. He recalled Tony mentioning a nearby club a few blocks west, tossed one last look at the apartment building, and made his way there. 

**(art by[iBuckyBarnes](https://ibuckybarnes.tumblr.com))**

The rest of the night was a blur; vague memories of tossing back shots, flirting around, and a loss of virginity at some guy’s apartment with a different name on his tongue. He woke up to empty sheets, a sticky note with a number and name, and a list of missed calls on his phone. Bucky hastily threw on his clothes from the night before and traced his way back to the apartment complex, bracing himself for a scolding. 

“James Buchanan Barnes, where the hell were you last night? You couldn’t have left a note? Called me last night with a ‘Hi Nat, I promise I’m not dead!’ Done anything other than leave us in the dark worrying about you?” Natasha was terse and stiff, but her mouth was pulled into a frown and her eyes were laced with concern. Steve and Sam were behind her, a cross between angry and relieved. The others had gone out for an early brunch, but Steve, Sam, and Natasha had stayed back to wait for him.

“I’m sorry, Nat. It won’t happen again, alright?” he muttered. 

“That’s it? We thought you were dead! Bruce was going to call the police! And the least you can say is sorry?” Steve exclaimed. It was the first time he’d spoken since Natasha had started berating Bucky. 

“Well, I don’t know what else you want me to say,” Bucky ground out. 

“How about where you were?” Natasha growled. “Let’s start there.”

“I hit up a club, went home with someone, that’s it. Nothing else to talk about.”

“How about why?” Sam snapped, and Bucky responded with a glare.

“It’s not a big deal, I don’t know why you’re making it one. I’m here now, okay? Let’s just go join the others,” Bucky said. Natasha opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off, “Just drop it, okay?” She looked reluctant, but with a final glare, she grabbed her jacket and stormed off to the elevator. Sam followed, giving Bucky a smile. 

“She’ll cool down, but you scared us. Just think, sometimes. There are people who care about you,” he said, and Bucky nodded in response. Steve hung back and grabbed Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Hey, what did you want to tell me yesterday?” he asked. Bucky’s eyes snapped to the blooming hickey at the collar of Steve’s shirt and felt his stomach coil up.

“Nothing important. I’m guessing you had a good night, though?” he asked with a smirk to alleviate the tension. Either Steve was oblivious to the insincerity in his tone, or he wanted an excuse to ignore it because a smile spread on his face as he looked down at the floor.

“Yeah, Tony and I, we…” Bucky nodded, grinning. 

“Good for you, man. Are you two dating now, or something?” Steve, if possible, flushed even more.

“Or something, I guess. I’ll figure it out in the fall,” he smiled.

“Great, man. I’m happy for you,” Bucky lied. Fuck. 


	4. Chapter Four: December 31st, 2007

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: homophobic statements (see end notes for more detail)  
> stop reading at 'eight months later' and begin reading again at "Steve still didn't know what happened."

Bucky was settled on the armchair by the window watching the snow begin to fall when he vaguely registered Steve opening the door behind him. 

“You and Sam went on a run in this weather?” he asked, not looking away from the window. 

“Yeah, a little shorter than usual, though. You’re still up for Tony’s tonight, right?”

“I don’t think I have a choice.” Bucky sipped his coffee, pretending not to notice Steve’s concerned look as he pottered around the apartment, eventually jumping in the shower. Bucky savored the silence, and was grateful for Steve’s avoiding the Taboo Topic™. Holidays were already hard when it was just him with his family, but this was the first time he wasn’t going home for Christmas.  _ Not home _ , Bucky corrected himself.  _ Not anymore.  _

Deep down, he knew that his family wasn’t really his anymore; that they didn’t want him around; that holidays were stilted even before he came out. But, if anything, those thoughts just worsened the ache in his chest for Becca’s inappropriate gag gifts and his mom’s perfect eggnog, and his dad’s weird ornaments he found in airports on business trips. Bucky hadn’t seen any of them since his spring break. It wasn’t until Easter Sunday that he finally decided to say something. In hindsight, it was really bad timing. Bucky wasn’t expecting his family to open their arms and hug him, but he also wasn’t expecting to be practically disowned. The memory was fresh in his mind, stuck in his head on loop like a broken record.

_ Eight Months Before _

They were already in a bad mood. Mass had started late, a baby had been crying the whole way through, and Mrs. Maguire wouldn’t shut up about her son’s Harvard acceptance letter. Winifred was stressed about dinner with George’s in-laws (and vice versa), and Becca was complaining that she couldn’t go out with her friends. Bucky was on the verge of crying, puking, or maybe both, wringing his hands and telling himself he’d wait for them to finish arguing. It never stopped, of course, not in his family. 

Winifred continued scolding Becca while bringing the food from the fridge. 

“I don’t know why you’d think you could get out of dinner. Honestly, Becca, are we that awful to be around? Do you really hate your family that much?” Bucky almost laughed at the irony but he wasn’t looking to get a dose from his Mom. Yet. 

“God, Mom, no! But today is Kristen’s birthday and her parents are out of town and we don’t have school tomorrow, it’s perfect timing for a party!” Becca whined. 

“Do not use the lord’s name in vain, especially today. And do you really think I’m going to let you go over to that girl’s house when there are no adults around? Really, Rebecca, how stupid do you think I am.”

“But, Mom-”

“No, Rebecca. You think I don’t know what you girls talk about on the phone? I mean, honestly you girls are so vulgar!” Becca gasped and Bucky felt his resolve start to crumble. 

“Mom, have you been listening in on my calls? That is such an invasion of my privacy, you never did this to Bucky!” She turned to him for backup and he stuttered out an attempt.

“Uh, yeah I guess not, but I actually-” Winifred cut him off.

“That’s not fair, Rebecca, your brother was much more responsible than you are, and I pay for that phone, the least I can do is know what you’re doing on it.” 

“Um, I wanted to-”

Becca scoffed, “That’s bullshit!” 

“Rebecca!” George barked, “Don’t use that language with your mother!”

“Uh, guys I-”

“Do you really hate your own mother? Do you just want to sit here and curse me out, go ahead and do it, since apparently, I deserve it,” Winifred shouted, following it with an aggresive sip of wine.

“Can I please-”

“God, Mom, stop playing the fucking victim!” Becca yelled, pushing her chair out and standing up. “I’m sick of you controlling what I do all the fucking time, it’s exhausting and I-”

“I’m gay!” Three heads whipped around to stare at Bucky, face flushed and hands clenching the table so hard his knuckles turned white. 

“What,” George said in an eerily quiet voice after a long stretch of silence, “did you just say.”

“I’m gay,” Bucky repeated with a sigh, “I’m gay and I’ve known for a long time and I wanted to tell you guys.” His response was met with an icy silence. 

“It’s not true, James. You just haven’t met the right girl yet,” Winifred said, voice shaking.

“Mom-” Bucky sighed.

“No, it’s fine, you know Mrs. Naiman? Her daughter is a really sweet girl, very pretty, you’d like her,” Winifred continued, looking to her husband for support, “I’ll introduce you, that’s all, and then you’ll be fine. It’s just a phase, darling, you’re still so young, you don’t know what you're feeling.” She reached out to grab his hand but Bucky pulled it away, standing up abruptly. 

“No, I- I think I should leave,” he said. 

“Oh, sweetie, no-” Winifred started. 

“I think that’s for the best, actually,” George cut in. “Let James...figure this out before he comes back home.” He sneered.

“There’s nothing to figure out, Dad,” Bucky spat, “I’m gay, it’s not a bad word, you can fucking say it instead of pretending like it’ll go away.”

“Bucky, no, don’t say that,” Becca said, her voice sharp and sudden. Bucky felt tears pricking the back of his eyes. It wasn’t a surprise, but it still felt like a betrayal. 

“Becca, please don’t get involved in this,” Bucky said and felt his heart clench at her glare as started up the staircase.

“How can I not get involved when you’re tearing this family apart, Bucky?” Her shout seemed to echo in the home. Bucky paused, back to his sister, and took a deep breath before continuing up the stairs. No one stopped him as he walked out of the door with a pre-packed bag.

Steve still didn’t know what happened, he didn’t know why Bucky wasn’t going home for the holidays, and he definitely didn’t know that Bucky was gay. He’d tried to tell Steve, but it wasn’t something that casually came up in conversation, and it wasn’t a conversation Bucky wanted to have. 

People knew he was gay, those people just happened to be random hookups three towns over that didn’t know his name. And probably Natasha. Natasha definitely knew. Not because Bucky told her, but because she was too observant for her own good. She’d never outright said anything to Bucky, but they both know she didn’t need to. Implications and judgemental looks or cryptic texts every time Bucky used to skip out on a group hangout if he knew one of Steve’s dates would be there were enough. It was even worse in their freshman year when Tony and Steve started dating. They were both too similar for their own good: headstrong, stubborn, and opinionated. But that didn’t stop them from flirting in the dining hall and Bucky coming to the dorm only to find a sock on the doorknob. Realistically, everyone knew it was a relationship that would crash and burn, but they were both so enamored with one another and Bucky ended up spending extra time in the shop to avoid them. Eventually, he came home to find a mopey Steve with red-rimmed eyes working on seven projects at once to avoid thinking about life.

“Bucky,” he was jolted back to reality, “I’m gonna go help Nat and Tony set up for tonight, do you wanna come?” It was an age-old tradition. Tony always says it’s payment for the drinks they consume throughout the night, but he really just likes having them around. They barely help, and usually just take advantage of his huge television, plush couch, and charming company, as he liked to put it. 

“I think I’ll hang back, actually. But go ahead, I’ll meet you there later,” he replied, pointedly avoiding Steve’s eyes.

“Alright, call me when you leave,” Steve finally said and glanced back once more before closing the door behind him as he left. Bucky sighed and went back to his coffee only to find a few remaining drops lingering at the bottom. He stood and grabbed his phone, clicking through contacts before stopping. After a few minutes of mental deliberation, he pressed the green button and chewed his lip as the dial tone started. It stopped after a few rings.

“Bucky?” A familiar voice answered.

“Yeah, hey Becca!” he replied in a rush, “Um, I know I’m a little late, but Merry Christmas.” He tugged at his hair absently waiting for a reply.

“Why are you calling?” she finally replied. 

“I, um, I just wanted to talk?” It came out as a question instead of a statement, and his hopes dropped as he heard her sigh.

“Look, Bucky, you’ve made it really clear you’re not going to fix your mess. And, you obviously want nothing to do with us, so do yourself a favor and delete my number.” He heard the click of a button and stared down at an empty screen. Bucky flipped the screen closed and threw the phone across the room, letting it clatter loudly somewhere in the kitchen. He trudged to the sink and splashed his face, letting the cool water mix with his tears. As he wiped down with a towel, he picked up his phone, snapped it open, and opened his most recent contact. He allowed himself a second of mourning before deleting it. 

After two hours of contemplation, Bucky finally threw on clothes Nat would deem appropriate and headed to Tony's place. By the time he showed up, it was packed. Bucky sighed as he weaved his way through clumps of people that Tony probably didn't know and that Bucky definitely didn't know, who came for the booze and the rumored but fake gift bags given to them by a real-but-not-used-for-alleged-intentions robot when they left.

"Bucky, hey, we've been looking for you, where were you earlier?" Bucky whipped around and with a startled look and Natasha, dressed in a simple maroon dress, who he expected to look furious for his disappearance. Instead, her brows were furrowed and her lips were turned down in a frown. "Bucky, are you okay? What's going on with you these days? " 

"Nothing, Nat. I just came. Have you seen Sam? " 

"He's with T'Challa, he came back from Wakanda to surprise Sam, look where were you? What the hell's going on?" 

"It’s nothing, Nat," he exclaimed, drawing the eyes of nearby listeners. Her face settled into a stern glare.

"Listen, on any other night I’d be pissed, I  _ am _ pissed. But, something’s going on and being angry isn’t going to do any good for either of us," she gritted out.

Bucky sighed, "Look, it's complicated. I don't really have the time to talk about it, trust me, you don't want to hear my sob story on New Year's Eve." 

Natasha raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, "Bullshit. New Year's or not, I'm here to talk. Don't deflect on me, Bucky." 

"I'm not, I just- Where’s Steve? I told him I’d talk to him."

Natasha scowled at him for a moment before sighing and sipping her drink. "I think he's out on the balcony. Last I saw, he was talking to Sharon about his recent commission." 

"Thanks,"

"Don't thank me, Bucky. Either get your shit together or get over it. I'm not going to sit and watch your back-and-forth self-destructive shit anymore."

"What are you talking about?" Bucky asked. The tips of his ears were bright red and he felt his face heat up in indignation and embarrassment. 

"I'm talking about you and Steve. I’ve put up with this since, what, the eighth grade?" She took another drink of her wine and shooed him away with her hand. "Something’s obviously bothering you, and maybe this isn’t it, but it won’t hurt to try."

"Nat, what the hell are you saying?” he asked, genuine this time. The embarrassment had faded away to confusion.

"Listen, I can't convince you that you’re going to get your happily-ever-after tonight. But I'm asking you to trust me, and if you can't do that, then go find out what I’m saying for yourself."

"Natasha-"

"Oh my God, just go!" She shoved him towards the crowd of people blocking the sliding door to the balcony. Bucky stumbled a bit and regained his footing, 

Bucky cracked the door open and stepped outside into the chilly air. Steve was standing by the railing alone, coat pulled tight against his body, and staring up at the cloudy sky. The streets were bustling with loud laughter and raucous teenagers as everyone celebrated the morning to come. Drunk socialites littered the streets below, clutching onto torn golden dresses and giggling about nothing at all. 

"Hey.” Steve whipped his head around in surprise and a grin lit up his face immediately.

"Bucky, hey. Where were you earlier, I didn't see you." Steve grabbed Bucky’s arm and pulled him to the railing, putting them shoulder-to-shoulder.

"Yeah, sorry, I just showed up. I was actually hoping to talk to you,” Bucky replied, feeling an uncharacteristic burst of courage. Maybe it was Natasha’s haphazard pep talk, maybe it was the call with his sister, maybe it was the shot of tequeila a hand had given to him when he walked into the party.

"Sure, is something wrong?" Steve asked, smile melting into a frown.

"Not really, I don't think. You know how I'm not going home for the holidays?"

Steve's nod, followed by silence, prompted Bucky to continue. 

"Um, during Easter, over Spring Break, I kinda sorta came out my family as gay." He sped up the last bit, voice pitched high and face flushed. 

"You're gay?" Steve asked after a period of silence that Bucky translated to disbelief. It was exactly what Bucky expected Steve's first response to be but he still winced at the harsh delivery. It wasn't cruel, quite the opposite. Soft, surprised, but the word was still difficult to hear. 

"Yeah, I'm gay. Have been for a while, but I guess that's a given,” Bucky replied. He meant it to be jovial, but it was stilted.

"What about grade school?" Steve asked after a long stretch of silence, catching Bucky off guard with the question. 

"Grade school?” he asked, noise scrunched in confusion. Steve's face flushed and he let out a nervous laugh

"Erm, yeah. Didn't you crush on at least a dozen girls?" he repeated, avoiding Bucky's eye. Even in the awkward silence, Bucky let out a laugh. 

"It was middle school, Steve. You had to date a girl or else everyone thought you were gay. No one cared about you because they all assumed you were fucking Nat." He was met with Steve’s horrified expression. 

"Me and Nat? her standards are way too high for that." The two stared at each other before breaking down into laughter. 

"Damn, nothing like coming out to your best friend in a severely vulnerable and emotional moment only to end up talking about his nonexistent seventh-grade sex life." 

"Shut up." Steve grinned. As their laughter tapered off into silence, the two stared up and the sky. 

"So, how'd your family take it?" Steve asked, his tone as if he was talking to a crying child.

"About as well as you'd expect," Bucky said with a bitter chuckle, and Steve winced. 

"Sorry.”

"S’okay, not your place to apologize."

"Still, it sucks."

"Yeah, it does." 

"There was something else I wanted to talk to you about." Bucky broke the silence, Natasha’s words floating in his mind. 

"There was actually one person in particular who helped me realize I was, y'know, and he was always there for me, and always supported me, and basically what I'm trying to say is that you helped me realize I was gay. Wait, that came out wrong, I'm trying to say that I had a crush on you when we were kids, I mean not had, have, though I wouldn't really call this a crush anymore, seems kinda juvenile. But then you were with Tony, and then Sam at some point? And then there was Nat which was weird because it's  _ Nat _ , and it's totally okay, I know you don't feel the same and we can just pretend this never happened and I-"

"Bucky." Steve cut him off and Bucky’s face flushed as he stared down at his battered sneakers on Tony's unfairly nice balcony. Steve placed his hands on either side of Bucky’s face and lifted it so they were eye-to-eye, noses touching, and warm breath mingling in the small space between them. Their lips touched, just for a moment, and Steve grinned before pulling Bucky in for a kiss. 

When he pulled away, Bucky’s eyes were wide open and his face was practically glowing, nose red from the cold. “Wait,” he put a hand on Steve’s chest, “Steve, what does this mean?” Steve paused, and gave him a reassuring smile. 

“Whatever you want it to.”

“Can it mean something more than a kiss? Maybe dinner?” Bucky asked, holding his breath and praying he didn’t misread anything.

“Yeah, Bucky, I’d like that,” Steve replied, intertwining his hand with Bucky’s. Loud chants from inside the house caught their attention and they heard the countdowns. “Happy new year,” he murmured before pulling Bucky in for another kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky comes out to his family as gay, and they react negatively, dismissing his sexuality, and he eventually leaves.


	5. Chapter 5: June 17th, 2011

Bucky stood in the bathroom looking down at the ring in his hands. It was simple, a plain silver band with a small diamond studded in the center. It was smooth, perfect. This night had to be perfect, he’d planned it down to the tee. They would start with dinner, somewhere nice and neutral, fancy but not too fancy, and the big question would come at the end of the meal, right before a dessert to celebrate. Basic, maybe, but Steve wouldn’t mind. After almost four years of surprise birthday parties and overly extravagant gifts, something simple would be nice, and Steve would never expect it. 

“Bucky!” Steve slammed his hand against the door, startling Bucky out of his daze. “I called you three times, have you seen my wallet? And are you ready to go, isn’t our reservation at seven?” he continued, his voice muffled through the door. 

“I’ll be out in a minute, and check in your nightstand,” Bucky stuttered out, hastily tucking the ring back in his pocket and smoothing down his button-up. He flicked the light-switch off and swung the bathroom door open, stumbling to grab his things as he rushed to the front door where Steve was waiting, albeit impatiently. 

“Sorry, let’s go,” he muttered, shoving his shoes on. They exchanged small talk about their work weeks before falling into an uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable. What a suitable word for the state of their relationship. Bucky laughed to himself, turning it into a vague cough when Steve shot him a confused glance. It’s not like they hated each other, but with Steve always at the office and Bucky constantly at work, they barely knew what was on the other’s mind anymore. But even outside of work, any moment they had together was eaten up by arguments or stilted, passive aggressive arguments. It wasn’t always like that; they used to be, well, perfect. Happy. The slam of a car door jolted him out of his thoughts and he fumbled with the handle, one hand in his pocket thumbing the ring. 

The dinner was nice, even if the food was too expensive and the portions were small. It was nice

"Bucky, I really didn't want to do this tonight, and I was hoping I could hold it off until later but we need to talk."

"Oh, well, actually I had something I was hoping to talk to you about. We've been together for, what, three years now? And friends for eighteen years and I know that I've been really absent lately but the thing is-"

"I think we should break up." Bucky paused in the middle of his pre-prepared speech. 

"What?"

"I said I think we should break up," Steve repeated. "I mean, you've been so distant lately and I love you, I do. But, we've grown apart, Bucky, can't you see that? I feel like I have no idea what's going on in your head and you don't seem too happy to offer it up." Bucky opened his mouth, ready to respond, but stopped himself. It's not like Steve was wrong. The last few months, everything had seemed off, but there was a very obvious reason for that. One that Steve didn't know. 

"Look, I know that things have been kind of rough, that doesn't mean we can't keep trying. I mean, we don't have to give up on-- on this."

"Bucky, I love you, you know I do. But we don't work anymore, not like we used to." Bucky struggled with the words to retaliate, to salvage whatever he could from the night, but where was the lie? Steve had obviously given up, and with reason from the way he's talking. Maybe he's right, maybe Bucky's clinging on too tight and it's time to just. Let go. Wordlessly, he called the waiter over. 

"Check please," he said, using all his willpower to keep his voice from wavering. The waiter surveyed the two with an awkward glance and brought it. As they walked out to the parking garage, Steve tried to break the silence one more time.

"Look, Bucky, I'm sorry-"

"It's fine, Steve, stop apologizing. If you have somewhere to crash, then go do that, by all means. I'll be at work through the week so you can just drop by and pick up your stuff. Leave a note if there's anything you're unsure about taking. Just leave the keys by the end of the week and I'll deal with rent." 

He was met with silence and didn’t dare look up at Steve’s face. Bucky had recited everything from his memory, from sleepless nights plagued with insecurity and anxiety, dreading this night. He was surprised he hadn’t cried yet, but it felt like his head was just on autopilot. Twelve years of awaiting rejection comes in handy when you need to repress emotions.

He thought Steve would’ve moved out of the area by now. It’d only been a few months, but Stark Industries was already expanding by the time Bucky was unceremoniously dumped by his boyfriend that he thought (read: hoped) there wouldn’t be any chances for awkward run-ins. It wasn’t even on one of the good days. Bucky had gotten out of bed after noon, and the last shower he’d taken was at least two days away. The only reason he was outside of his apartment was because he was on his way to buy groceries, tired of living off of ramen from the back of his cabinets and likely expired red sauce. It was supposed to be a boring trip to the store, but no. Instead, while Bucky was deliberating whether or not he wanted to splurge on Lucky Charms or Frosted Flakes, he heard a terrifyingly familiar voice call his name.

“Steve,” he said, partially surprised, but mainly just mad at himself for not expecting something shitty to happen to him at the worst time.

“Yeah. It’s, it’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” Bucky felt a pit in his stomach as he watched Steve not-so-subtly look him up and down. 

“Yeah, Steve. It has.” Bucky smiled, and grabbed the Lucky Charms, tracking Steve’s half-confused, half-disgusted look. “I should get going, I’ve got a… thing.”

“Oh, I was hoping we could maybe have a cup of coffee. Catch up, you know?” At least he had the decency to look sheepish, hand rubbing at the back of his neck and eyes darting anywhere around the aisle but Bucky’s face. Bucky sighed.

“Sure, Steve. We can catch up.” After a painfully awkward checkout session where Steve’s fresh produce and Bucky's abundance of junk food were hastily shoved in bags, the two walked together to a generic hipster coffee shop down the street. It was still New York, so it wasn't too hard to find one. They walked in silence, albeit there was an awkward "You first, no you," when Steve opened the door but they managed to fit through the door frame together. Bucky settled comfortably into the familiar shop, accepting a cup of coffee from Steve, one packet of sugar, and two of cream. He tried not to dwell on the fact that Steve had remembered his order. They'd been best friends for years, of course he remembered. Just like Bucky remembered Steve's constant order of black coffee and nothing else. At least, he thought that was the case until Steve sat down with one chai tea and a hot chocolate in a to-go cup. 

"Who's the hot cocoa for?" he asked, slightly dreading the answer. 

"Oh, um, my- my roommate, Peggy,” Steve stumbled over his words. “She loves hot chocolate, but she hates the smell of coffee in the apartment, so she forced me onto tea. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be." Steve smiled, but his neck and the tips of his ears were bright red. 

His phone lit up with a text and Bucky snuck a peek at the lock screen. When they were dating, it was a picture of Bucky taken at one of their game nights when he was screaming at the Monopoly board (for good reason, okay? Tony’s a dirty cheater). Bucky didn't know what he expected, secretly he’d hoped it hadn't changed. Realistically, he expected it to be some generic iPhone lock screen or a picture of a dog. But it wasn't. Instead, it was a picture of a girl, presumably Peggy. Tight chocolate curls and bright red lipstick, she was gorgeous. If Bucky wasn't gay, he might be into her. Apparently, Steve had beaten him to it. 

"Roommate, huh?" he asked after a long pause. 

"Yeah, Bucky," Steve murmured in response. "Roommate." The two sipped at their drinks, chasing after drops of caffeine to avoid conversation. 

"So, how've you been?" Steve asked, breaking the ice. Looking at Bucky, he probably knew the answer, but Bucky wasn't going to sacrifice his dignity any more than he already had. 

"It's been good, work's been good, I got a promotion, actually." Lie. "I’ve been getting to know my coworkers, which is nice. I went to a bar with some of them the other night for a birthday.” Lie again. "I was just doing some weekly grocery shopping today." Ding, ding, ding, another lie. Weekly implied that this wasn't the first time Bucky had left the house for anything other than work in weeks. It'd been a rough time, okay? "How's Sarah been?" he asked, trying to derail the conversation from his increasingly pathetic life. 

"Ma’s been good, still in the same old apartment. She's gotten into baking more, still terrible at painting nails. " Steve grinned, and Bucky actually let out a laugh at that. "Are you going to Nat's dinner this weekend?"

Shit. Bucky’s smile immediately dropped. 

Listen, it's not that his life revolved around Steve. But. Here's the thing. They'd been friends since they were in elementary school. They were bound to have mutual friends and a shared friend group, but as Bucky and Steve got older, Bucky unintentionally distanced himself from everyone but Steve, where Steve did the opposite. And after the breakup, well, he stopped replying so they stopped texting. He understood that, after the breakup, of course they would go to Steve because they were actually friends with him, who’d maintained those relationships over the years. Bucky hadn't. So, when the dreaded night came, and they'd gone their separate ways, Nat and Sam texted him once or twice, and he gave them subtle lies in response to appease them and make them feel like they were doing something good for him, then put down his phone and fell into bed. 

It's not that they didn't care about him, they did, he knew that. But, he's forgettable. He got worse with time and Steve got better, and the grass is green, and the sky is blue, and some things are just facts. So, Bucky's social life had kind of deteriorated after the breakup, and 'talking to others' wasn't really something he did anymore. His coworkers knew him, the shiny, clean, office-friendly version of him, and there was no else for him to know. No one else for him to fake a personality for, which was actually kind of freeing. Because once Steve was gone, so was everyone else. But, that's the long answer, and Bucky doesn't feel like giving Steve the long answer. So instead, he says,

"I was going to go, but I actually have a work event that night. It sucks, it would’ve been nice to see her. It's been a while." Understatement of the year, but what else can he do. Lying is apparently all he's good for when it comes to Steve.

Bucky came home, exhausted and drained, and settled down on the couch, grabbing his computer to finish some work before bed. He'd gotten an hour in, ready to turn in, when he hureard a knock at the door. He paused, turning towards it, and cautiously opened the door. He expected to see Steve or Nat, but since the universe decided to make this day even more confusing, a familiar brunette looked back at him, duffel back swung over her shoulder and a suitcase next onto her. 

"Becca?" 

After that New Year call, Bucky hadn't really spoken with his family at all. He tried to talk to Becca once, but after seven missed calls went straight to voicemail, he got a message:  _ ERROR: Message could not be delivered.  _

So he took that and went on his way. But now, Becca was standing right in front of him, and he realized he hadn't seen his little sister in four years. 

"Becca, what are you doing here?" 

"Bucky. God, it’s been so long hasn’t it.” She paused, taking in Bucky’s dishevled appearance and her eyes traveled the apartment behind him. She sighed and looked down at her shoes, “Actually, I-I should go, I shouldn’t have even come, I’m sorry. I know I haven’t reached out to you since, well, ever. But I had nowhere else to go but you don’t need to deal with my shit,” she rambled.

“Becca!” Bucky took her by the shoulders and she stopped, frazzled, with tears in her eyes and body shaking. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Bucky. I’m sorry that I let them say those things to you, that _I_ said those things to you. I just abandoned you, I’m so _, so_ sorry.” Her words were muffled as Bucky engulfed her in a hug and let her tears soak his shirt.

“Let’s get you inside,” Bucky murmured. He guided her onto the sofa, moving around papers to make space for her and she plopped down, head in hands and sobs racking her body. He dragged in her suitcase, locking the door behind him, and settled next to Becca. 

“Listen, Becca, stop apologizing. You were just a kid, you didn’t know better. You were just mimicking what mom and dad told you, and that’s not your fault,” he exclaimed, sliding an arm around her shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Becca.” The two siblings sat in silence peppered with Becca’s sobs and sniffles. After a few minutes, she lifted her head, turning to Bucky. 

“I should’ve known, I should’ve listened to you-”  
“Becca, you can’t change the past. You’re here now, and as much as I’d like to know why, I think we should both get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?” She nodded, and he pulled her into a hug. “I love you, Becca. And I forgive you.” 

Becca looked down at her piping cup of coffee, wrapping her hands around the mug and savoring the warmth. When she looked up and saw Bucky’s expectant face, she sighed. 

“Look, it’s a long story,” she started.

“And it’s a Sunday, I can spare a few hours,” he replied.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath and stared back down at her mug. "It started with this stupid argument mom and I had. I was in this local library near campus freshman year, I go to Columbia, and there was this girl sitting next to me, America, and we kinda clicked. So, she invited me to her dorm and I met her roommates, and found out they were all gay. Well, not gay, I mean, America’s a lesbian, but everyone else was LGBT in some way, I guess. 

“Anyways, I guess you coming out kind of made me a little more comfortable about everything? I mean, I reacted horribly, but you’re still Bucky. And you’re still my big brother, and you’re also gay. And, that’s important, but at the end of the day, you’re just Bucky, y’know? And, I never really got to tell you that, but they kind of helped me realize that. That I can look beyond someone’s identity while still acknowledging and respecting it. And that was a huge step for me, because it helped me realize that I may not be as straight as I thought. America kind of helped me figure it out.” She paused and looked up at Bucky. He smiled, and nodded for her to continue. Becca gave him a hesitant smile back and went on. 

“Anyways, Mom and Dad just assumed that I had this wonderful group of friends that they’d totally approve of, and I sort of let them believe that. I mean, they knew who America and Peter and all were, but they didn’t really know anything but names and faces.” Becca paused to sip at her coffee. “Last year, we all moved in together, me, America, Peter, Ned, MJ, Kate, Gwen, Miles, and Kamala, it keeps the rent low. I guess Mom and Dad wanted to surprise me with a visit, but were understandably confused when they found America and I in an, uh, less than ideal situation. Needless to say, neither of them took it well, and I was supposed to stay with them this summer for an internship, but that kind of fell through. America would let me crash at the house but someone’s already renting my room for the summer, and all of this was 36 hours ago and now I’m here.” 

After a long pause, Bucky said, “That’s… a lot.” Becca laughed, somewhere between bitter and maniacal. “My only question,” he continued, leaning forward, “is how did you find me?” 

Becca rolled her eyes, as if her answer would be obvious. The action seemed so familiar and comfortable, and reminded Bucky of when she was a teenager, young and childish, and his heart clenched. “Basically, we’re a bunch of gay STEM kids, so Ned did some...not so legal snooping on the internet and figured it out. Also, social media stalking helped.” Bucky pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and let out an exhale.

“What you’re saying is that your friends hacked some sort of website and stalked my nonexistent social media so you could come here?” he asked. She nodded, a grin on her face, and he had to laugh. 

“I mean, Natasha, Sam, and Steve are pretty active, but I didn’t find much on you. Actually, you weren’t on their anything. No posts, no mentions. Aren’t you guys best friends or something?” 

Bucky’s face darkened and he said, “That’s my own long story.” Becca raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Well, it’s Sunday,” she mocked, “I think I can spare a few hours.”


	6. Chapter Six: May 23rd, 2014

Bucky slipped away from the loud and boisterous room and grabbed another drink from the fridge. As he closed it, the invitation on the fridge stared back in perfect cursive print. _ Save the Date: May 25th, Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers. _ It was too late now to take his RSVP back, and he wasn't going to cancel or ditch the day of. That'd probably fare even worse for him. Plus, who knows, maybe it’d be fun. 

"Bucky! Grab me a slice of veggie, " Gwen shouted from the living room, shooting him a grin as he dropped the whole pizza box next to her and flopped down on the sofa.

She turned back to the group and continued. "The tarantuala just showed up in the lab, no one knew why, and I didn't know it was from the bio department!" she sputtered with a grin on her face. "He looked all small and sad and lonely, and I knew someone was probably going to kill him so I just, you know, picked him up. He was so tiny , too!" she cooed over MJ and Peter’s laughs. 

"So you adopted him?" Ned asked, and Gwen grinned. 

"He was so cute, I had to?!"

"Hold up, did you name him?" Kamala asked, bringing a beer to her lips and settling back on her chair. 

"She did." Miles nodded. 

"I mean, there was a bunsen burner _right_ _there_ and, and I don't know, it just came to me,” Gwen rambled. 

"She named the tarantula Zuko," Miles interjected. America kicked Gwen's leg from the other sofa as she laughed. 

"How'd you get away with it? Where is he now?" Gwen and Miles exchanged a look and broke into laughter. 

"We felt bad," Gwen exclaimed in between laughs, "tarantulas don't belong in cages, so I just let him go!" 

"In the city, that’s even worse. He'll get killed!" Ameriaca cackled from her corner.

"Nah, she gave it to the dude down the hall in the East Building," 

"The one who sells weed?" Becca laughed and Gwen nodded.

“He said he knew a guy! Bio department doesn’t have to know.”, 

The group settled into a comfortable silence, and Becca got up to grab some soda. 

"Wait, Bucky, are you free this Saturday? I have a work thing and I dont't wanna go alone, everyone else is busy,” Peter asked.

Becca's eyes widened and she shook her head from behind Bucky. He turned around and laughed, before replying, "Sorry Peter, I have a wedding. Friend from college." Becca scoffed from behind him.

"What?" He tilted his head back and looked up at her and she rolled her eyes.

"Sure, just friends.” Bucky leaned back to hit her and she swatted his hand away.

"Wait, wait, is this that Steve giuy?" MJ asked, and Becca nodded. Bucky whipped his head up at her and glared.

“You told them?” he exclaimed, giving Becca an affronted look.

“She didn’t have to, you’d be surprised how loose your lips get after your wisdom teeth come out.” MJ laughed and Bucky slid down in his chair with flushed cheeks. The conversation continued and Bucky tuned in and tuned out throughout the night, mind stuck on the wedding. There was a rehearsal dinner tomorrow that he opted out of with a lame excuse and Becca had already laughed at him from his doorway while he went through his closet before settling on a fitted red dress shirt, an old black blazer, and some black trousers. 

The morning of, Bucky pulled up to the venue, a banquet hall with a grand pavilion attached to the front of the building. He was filled with nerves, tapping his fingers and tugging at his hair. He’d grown it out, it reached his shoulders and he styled it so it looked artfully tousled without being too messy. When he went inside, he was surrounded with a mix of familiar faces and strangers. Everything was set up, but a steady flow of guests entered and mingled with one another with a few minutes to spare before the ceremony. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see Natasha. Time had treated her well, she was wearing a strapless lavender dress that hung down to her knees, and her scarlet locks had grown past her shoulders and curled by her chest. 

“Long time, no see.” She smirked, pulling him in for a hug. He accepted the embrace and felt slightly relieved, slightly worried. But, when he pulled away, he was met with a kind smile. 

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” Bucky laughed, running his fingers through his hair awkwardly. 

“And whose fault is that?” Her expression was playful but her voice held a tone of seriousness. “Check your phone once in a while, Barnes,” she teased. 

“Sorry, I know, it’s been years. How’s life treating you?” he asked, hoping to drive the conversation away from himself. Natasha noticed and raised an eyebrow but must have taken pity on him. 

“Can’t complain, I’m a full-time instructor at a mixed martial arts studio. I moved in with Maria a few months ago, it’s been going pretty good.” She smiled and nudged him with her elbow. “What about you? What have you been up to? I hope you’ve been busy enough that all my missed calls were an accident.”

“Nothing much, actually, Becca’s living with me right now. She moved in a few years ago, senior year, her friends are over pretty often, and her girlfriend. Actually, T’Challa’s little sister, Shuri, works with me and TA’d for one of their classes.” Natasha blinked up at him.

“Nothing much, huh? Since when are you and Becca on such good terms?” Bucky sighed, a small smile on his face.

“It’s a long story,” he said. Natasha snorted.

“I’m sure. I’d say I have time, but I think I’m needed elsewhere.” She looked over Bucky’s shoulder where Sam was calling her over. “Perks of being a maid of honor,” she joked.

“Wait, you’re maid of honor?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah,” Natasha replied, brows furrowed, “And Sam’s best man, didn’t Steve tell you any of this?” Bucky shook his head. 

“Um, Steve and I haven’t- never mind, don’t let me keep you,” he said, “I’ll see you during the reception.” Natasha shot one more confused look over her shoulder as she headed to one of the dressing rooms. Bucky dropped in the nearest seat, and pulled out his phone, pulling up his conversation with Becca. 

_ <<remind me again why i decided to show up _

_ >>because i convinced you to so i could throw a rager _

_ <<you don’t have enough friends for that _

_ >>neither do u, bitch _

_ >>go mingle and stop texting me _

_ >>remake some friends so i can stop hanging out w my older brother on saturday nights _

_ >> <3 _

Bucky sighed and closed his phone, surveying the room. He spotted Tony and braced himself for, well, Tony. 

“James, Jimmy, Jimbo, it’s been a while,” Tony exclaimed, pulling Bucky into an unexpected hug.

“Hey, Tony, I would ask what you’ve been up to, but I don’t know anyone who hasn’t heard of Stark Industries.” Tony laughed, a little sheepish.

“Yeah, we’re doing pretty well. I considered following Howard’s path, he had plenty of connections but no one likes a billionaire, especially not one that manufactures weapons.” Bucky nodded and gestured for Tony to sit down next to him. 

“Damn, you’ve mellowed out. Remind me again what your recent projects are?”

“We’re trying to make a dent in the environmental damage caused by corporations; oil spills, deforestation, ocean pollution, that kind of stuff. Basically just cleaning up my dad’s mess.” Tony laughed. “What have you been up to, Jimbo?” Bucky groaned, albeit smiling.

“God, don’t bring that nickname back,” he grumbled over Tony’s cackle, “Nothing much. Putting my engineering degree to good use, Becca moved in with me, pretty standard stuff.”

“Ah, so no love life,” Tony asked, nudging Bucky’s shoulder and waggling his eyebrows. Bucky huffed out a laugh, more amused than bitter.

“Nothing to speak of, no.” Tony raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised.

“Really? Damn, who’d’ve thought. Don’t worry, Jimbo, you’re a catch.” Tony clapped him on the shoulder and Bucky was torn between winceing and laughing, so he settled for a smile and a nod. “Oh, I think it’s starting,” Tony whispered as the room went quiet and turned their attention to the front. A tall man with black hair and a cane in one hand, a microphone in the other, tapped it to grab the guests’ attention. 

“If everyone could find their seats, please, the ceremony is about to start.” He smiled, before handing the microphone to a familiar face. Deep-set wrinkles, greying blond hair and a smile stretched across her face, Sarah Rogers was unmistakable. She grabbed the mic from the man with a smile and a mouthed “thank you”, and set it down on a nearby table before ducking into a dressing room. 

The room went silent from its previous whispers as she reappeared, beaming, with a grinning Steve right next to her. And Steve- Steve was  _ Steve _ . Bucky felt the air leave his lungs, and he was pretty sure his heart had stopped beating. He was tall, taller than the last time they’d talked, his hair was slicked back and had grown out a bit, tickling the back of his neck. He was cleanshaven, and linked his arm with Sarah. A small, light blue flower poked out of the pocket of his navy blue blazer, and it matched his powderblue tie, perfectly knotted. As Steve took his place on the altar, Bucky felt his throat tighten and his knuckles were white from how tight his grip on the bench was. 

The moment Peggy stepped into the room, everyone was captivated. She was perfect. Chocolate curls tight and pinned back into a crown, and a veil poised on her head as if she was a royal. Her dress matched the scene; it was slightly off-white, somewhere between pure snow and cream. It was cinched at the waist, with a delicate lace detail all through the dress. Her gaze was fixed tightly on the altar, on Steve, crimson lips pulled in a wide smile. 

As she stepped onto the altar, hoisting her train to do so, Steve’s smile melted into something warm and tender, the way he used to look at Bucky. The moment felt private, Bucky felt like he should be looking away. He nearly did, stomach turning, and watched as the two stepped close to one another, hands together and eyes transfixed on the other. They barely looked away as the officiator began the ceremony. Bucky’s eyes flitted between the happy couple and the floor, trying to keep his tears down and his flush subtle. If Tony noticed, he didn’t say anything. It was over as soon as it started, thirty minutes and then it ended with a searing kiss and a round of cheers from the guests. Bucky stood and clapped with the rest of them, hiding everything with a smile and a cheer.

The reception was, if possible, worse than the wedding. Bucky was next to Bruce and Thor, which was nice, but other than that, it was some of Peggy’s friends. Apparently Thor and Bruce knew them, so they were all enraptured in conversation about an inside joke Bucky didn’t get. He sipped his champagne, smiling when it seemed appropriate and fake-laughing everytime made a joke that was supposed to be funny. Steve and Peggy were doing their rounds, charming the guests with their beauty and glamour and all around perfection. Bucky tried to school his expression into something akin to a smile as they made their way over to his table. Peggy turned to her friends and immediately struck conversation up, and Steve turned to Thor, Bruce, and Bucky.

“Hey, guys, thanks for coming out,” he said, and  _ damn it _ he was so sincere.

“Wouldn’t miss it, Steve. Congratulations,” Bruce replied, and Steve’s grin was so wide, Bucky wondered how he could hold that expression for so long.

“Best of luck in your future endeavors, Steven,” Thor boomed, standing to, quite frankly  _ engulf _ Steve in a hug, who accepted it wholeheartedly. 

Steve turned to Bucky, and his expression melted into a soft smile. He was happy, Bucky could tell, but the day had worn him down and the smile had turned fake at some point in the night. Elated, but exhausted. But here, now, it was something real. Something that tugged at Bucky’s heart and reminded him of warm spring nights in his shitty dorm bunk bed. The smile was far from pitying or condescending; it was familiar, and the tenderness of his gaze cradled the wound Bucky was too prideful to call a broken heart. Maybe he was reading too much into it, maybe it was false hope, but Bucky had lied to Steve so many times, it was worth lying to himself if it meant he could believe that a small part of Steve still cared about him, still _ wanted  _ to care about him. 

“Bucky,” he said. And  _ god _ , he said his name with relief, in an exhale. Like he couldn’t believe Bucky was even there, standing right in front of him. It’d been three years, three long years of pining and empty bottles and Steve looked at him like he was some sort of angel. Maybe it was because the last time they’d met, he was a crusty, greasy-haired mess, but Bucky took that piece of hope, that feeling of  _ home _ he felt when Steve looked at him like that and tucked it deep, deep in his mind to hold onto the next time he fell apart. 

“Steve, hey.” Bucky sighed, eyes transfixed on Steve’s. His hand came up to fiddle with his hair subconsciously and he didn’t even realize until he noticed Steve’s eyes tracking the movement, smile growing. “Um, congratulations. You two’ll be great together, I can already tell,” he stuttered out. 

“Ah, thank you. And, thanks for coming out, it’s great to see you again,” Steve said, and it was so genuine, voice filled with warmth. Whatever moment they had was interrupted as Peggy appeared at Steve’s side, sliding an arm comfortably around Steve’s waist like it was second nature and grinned up at Bucky. She’d changed after the ceremony, opting for a more comfortable white sundress that fell at her ankles, flowy white satin. 

“Oh, you must be Bucky,” she said, extending her hand, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” he replied smoothly, shaking her hand, and turning his gaze towards her.

“Don’t think Steven could say anything bad about you if I put a gun to his head,” she joked, and Steve rolled his eyes. He murmured something in her ear and she laughed, swatting him on the shoulder.

“Well, it was wonderful meeting you, Bucky, we’ll have to meet for dinner sometime soon,” Peggy said, her smile wide, lipstick smudged, and hair slightly out of place, but she still looked perfect. He nodded, and replied with something equally polite and stilted, and the happy couple linked arms and moved onto the next table. 

Dinner passed with a blur of small talk and sips of wine, and as the wedding progressed to a party-like state, Bucky, with a few too many glasses of wine in his stomach, stole a glance over at the married couple. They were probably bad hosts for not socializing with guests but they looked so happy, no one could fault them. They were sitting at their table, the rest of the seats empty and guests on the dance floor. Peggy whispered something to Steve and they both laughed until their cheeks were flushed bright red, grinning and practically gleeful. 

Bucky felt nauseous, and he had a guess that it wasn’t the alcohol. He surveyed the room; no one was looking his way, and slipped out into the lobby, sparing a smile to the doorman before stumbling out the front door, only slightly disheveled, and patted his pockets for his car keys. 

“Looking for these?” He whipped around at the familiar voice. Sarah Rogers stood, something indecipherable in her expression, holding his blazer in one hand and his keys in the other.

“Um, thanks.” She handed him a water bottle from her purse. 

“You look like you could use this, darling,” she said, and he took it from her, grateful. “Bucky Barnes, three years and not a single call,” she scolded and Bucky’s eyes widened.

“Um, yeah, sorry, I just- didn’t have a reason.” He winced at the harsh wording but Sarah just shook her head the way mothers do and pulled him into a hug.

“Well, now you do. I’m telling you, right now, and you better listen or I’ll hunt you down and whoop your ass.” Bucky laughed, flush filling his cheeks, and Sarah smiled. “Why are you leaving so soon, darling?” The grin on Bucky’s face turned to a grimace. 

“Um, I have an early morning tomorrow.” Sarah gave him a disbelieving look.

“It’s a Sunday morning, where are you gonna be? Mass? We both know that’s a lie. What’s going on?” she asked, nudging his shoulder. 

“Mrs. Rogers, you have a son who just got married, you don’t need to listen to me.” Sarah fixed Bucky with a glare.

“Listen here, James, I have a son who just got married sitting happily with his wife in there, and I got a son out here,” she said, pointing a finger at Bucky, “who looks in need of some company before he breaks down. And it’s Sarah.” Bucky felt his face heat up and his voice wobbled a little as he responded.

“It’s a long story,” he said.

“Then tell me the short version.”

He did. He told her about the beginning, the build up, the pining for years. The climax of what he thought was their love story, a new year’s kiss. And a bittersweet ending with a ring in his pocket. At some point she’d pulled him into a hug and he was just crying into her shoulder. 

His voice was hoarse the next time he spoke, “I still have it, you know.”

“Have what?”

“The ring. God,” he scoffed, “I don’t know, it felt wrong to get rid of it. Like I was betraying him. Sometimes I wear it, I slip it onto my hand and pretend that it’s real. I close my eyes and pretend like it’s me in there. Does that make me a horrible person?” he asked, voice breaking.

“No, James, it means you’re someone who loves with your whole body, mind, soul. And one day the world’s going to give you someone who’ll look at you and feel the same. Who knows, maybe it already has,” she replied, giving him a soft smile. 

“I should get going,” he said, eyes cast down at the sidewalk. They gave their goodbyes, and Sarah wrapped him in one more hug. 

“James,” she called as he made his way to the car, “Steve never visits on Sundays.” The words take a few minutes to process in Bucky’s mind. 

“Still live at the same place?” he replied, and she nodded, waving as he pulled out of the parking lot. 

The air was cloyingly warm as Bucky slid open his windows and let the cool air wash over him. He closed his eyes for a second at a red light before a loud honk startled him to keep driving. In his surprise, he moved into the left lane and made a wrong turn. 

Sighing, he pulled into the closest empty parking lot and slipped out of his car. He pulled his phone out and queued up a GPS when he heard a clatter behind him. Bucky pocketed his phone and hesitantly paced around the car, and heard a soft meow from inside the car. He looked at the passenger seat where a soiled white cat was staring up at him through the open window, softly purring. It didn’t look like it was moving anytime soon, and the cat began to whine. With a closer look and a gentle touch, he noticed that one of its legs was hanging awkwardly off the seat. Bucky sighed and leaned against his car, cancelling the directions to his apartment and pulling up directions to the closest vet. 

After he pulled into the parking lot, he tried picking up the cat, but its claws extended and sunk into the seat. Giving up, Bucky just pulled the door open and gently coaxed it out, and with some gentle assistance, managed to nestle it in his arms. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and went up to the front desk. 

“Hello, sir, what’s your name, and how may we help you?” the secretary asked in a bubbly voice, contrasting her heavy eyebags.

“Hi, Bucky BarnesI found this cat in my car, it seems to have a broken leg, but I can’t tell. I thought I’d bring it in, just in case,” he said, looking down at its glassy blue eyes. 

“Alright, let me take her and you can wait here until we get an update,” she said, eyes on the computer and fingers flying over the keyboard. 

“Um, is it possible for anyone here to take her to some sort of adoption agency?” The secretary paused, and met Bucky with a piercing stare.

“Did you not want to keep her? You found her, didn’t you?”

“Um.” He looked down at the cat again; beneath all the dirt and grime, she was kind of cute and he couldn’t recall any sort of restrictions for his building. Becca was always begging for a pet,anyways and it’s not like he didn’t have the space. Bucky sighed. “Is there any paperwork I have to sign?” he asked, exhausted from the night. The secretary’s grin, if possible, grew even wider. 

“I’ll get that printed right out for you, sir. Just take a seat right there.” She gestured to the waiting area. He sat, tapping his foot and checking his phone to see a few notifications from Becca. 

_ >>how did it go?? _

_ >>shit are u in the ceremony rn?? did your phone buzz in front of everyone?? did i just  _

_ make you seem like an asshole?? _

_ >>what am i saying, you don’t need me for that :) _

_ >>text me detailssssssss _

_ >>dude it’s getting late, where are u??  _

_ >>omg r u getting laid??? _

_ >>r u getting laid with STEVE??????? _

_ >>homewrecker slut  _

_ >> ❤️ _

_ >>dude text me backkkkkkkk u can’t possibly be having this much social interaction _

_ >>bucky where are you? it’s midnight i’m worried, call me back _

_ >>bucky if i don’t get a response soon i’m calling steve _

_ <<becca calm down, i’m fine _

He got an immediate response.

_ >>jesus fuck thanks for giving me a heart attack _

_ >>r u still at the wedding?? how was it? is nat as hot as my closeted twelve dumb ass  _

_ remembers??? _

_ <<gross _

_ <<and probably, yeah _

_ <<i left a while ago _

_ <<i’ll tell you more when i get home _

_ >>and when tf will that be _

_ >>it’s late bitch _

_ <<no foul language ur a child >: ( _

_ >> no >: ) _

_ <<go to sleep dumbass, i have a surprise for u in the morning _

_ >>ooh what is it _

_ <<a surprise _

_ >>rude _

_ >>goodnight _

_ >>i better get all the details tomorrow _

_ >>love you <3 _

_ << night _

Bucky pocketed his phone and grabbed the clipboard and pen the secretary left by him and filled out the packets. As he was wrapping up the last page, one of the veterinarians called his name.

“Mr. Barnes?” He surveyed the room before catching Bucky’s eye and walking over with the cat nestled in his arms. “It was just a sprain, but we cleaned her and put her in a cast. She should be fine, just ice it twice a day and, just in case, we have some pain medication for her to take. Once a day should be enough.”

“Ah, thank you,” Bucky replied, taking the cat back. “You’re gonna get a new home, buddy,” he murmured to the cat, who purred in response, nuzzling her nose in his chest. He looked back up at the vet. “Is there anything else I need to do?”  
He shook his head. “Nope, she’s good to go. Have a nice night, Mr. Barnes.” Bucky smiled in response before pocketing the medication and heading to his car. Once he got inside, he plopped her down on his lap gently, and she stared up at him, meowing.

“What do I name you, huh?” She blinked up at him and meowed again, swatting his arm with her paw. He pet her soft white fur, a little damp from the bath the vet had given her. “What about Alpine, do you like that?” She simply yawned, baring her teeth and closing her eyes, curling up on his lap. Bucky laughed, and stroked her head with two knuckles. 

“This is definitely a safety hazard,” he said to Alpine with a smile. He sighed and put the car in reverse, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on Alpine. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for death (read end notes for more detail)

**Chapter 7**

**Part One- December 24th, 2016**

The table erupted into laughter as Becca finished another horrible rendition of Toxic, ending the verse with a slam of her now-empty beer bottle on the table. Bucky snorts at his sister’s antics, sipping his drink. Noel slipped into the booth, prompting Bucky to scooch over, and grinned at his boyfriend. 

“Sorry I took so long,” he pressed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek, “boss kept us late.”

“Really? It’s Christmas Eve, doesn’t the guy have any holiday spirit,” Becca snarked, and Noel shrugged.

“Ah yes, because we’re filled to the brim with holiday spirit, using Christmas as an excuse to drink the night away,” Bucky drawled, leaning forward to let Noel slide an arm around his shoulder. 

“Hey, I’m pretty sure I had eggnog at some point tonight,” Becca replied. 

“I’ve never actually had eggnog, does it have egg in it?” America asked, only a little tipsy. 

“I’m not actually sure what was in that drink, I asked them to put a ton of alcohol in it so I doubt it was accurate,” Becca said, and America nodded, dropping her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder. 

“Speaking of, did you want something from the bar?” Bucky turned to Noel.

“Um, yeah, actually. Just a scotch and soda.” Bucky nodded, and Gwen groaned from across the table.

“God, you’re so adult. Get an appletini like the rest of us,” she complained. Bucky laughed as he walked to the bar, tossing one more glance back at Noel. They’d met a few months back after Becca made an ironic Tinder account for Bucky, and he unironically started using it. He’d suffered through a few mediocre dates until he swiped right on Noel and they’d matched. Becca hadn’t taken kindly to him at first ( _ “You’re the one who downloaded the app.” “Yeah, as a joke!” _ ) but Noel was sweet, and funny, and he won her over. He worked at a law firm and usually ended up working overtime, but he got Bucky flowers sometimes and made them go on weekly date nights, which usually ended with takeout and Netflix, but neither of them minded. He was nice, and  _ normal.  _

Bucky smiled to himself as he walked up to the bar, ordering for himself and a round for the rest of the table. He looked down at the table, hair falling in his face, and smiled to himself. For the first time in so many years, he felt fine. He felt normal, and happy, and calm. 

“Bucky?” 

Until he didn’t. Bucky tensed up, because he knew that voice, and that voice never meant anything good. He slowly turned, and let out a sigh when he saw Steve Rogers staring right back at him.

“Steve, hey.” He exhaled, hand coming up to fiddle with his hair. 

“It’s been a while, years, hasn’t it?” Steve’s words were slurred, only a little, but enough for Bucky to notice. He dropped his gaze to the grouped empty glasses next to Steve, and sighed again.

“Yeah, your wedding. How’re you doing, you and Peggy?” Bucky asked, and Steve laughed bitterly. 

“Me and Peggy,” he started, leaning in enough for Bucky to smell the sourness of his breath, “lasted about a year before we realized that love wasn’t meant to last.” Bucky snorted.

“Poetic.”

“Damn right it is.” The silence stretched and Bucky stole a glance at the busy bartender, cursing himself for coming to a packed bar with ten friends. 

“So,” he dragged out the word, “how you been? You know, besides, Peggy and shit. Why aren’t you with your mom?” Bucky knew why; she was taking a vacation up in the mountains for the holidays. She’d detailed the cabin when they were baking apple pie the week before. 

“She’s on vacation, some cabin.” Steve sighed. “Planned it before my marriage went to shit, couldn’t get a refund, I guess.” Bucky had no idea if that was true; they had one rule when it came to Sunday hangouts: no talking about Steve. It was surprisingly easy to avoid the subject, even when they were in his childhood home. 

“Hmm, good for her. You here with anyone, Sam, Nat?” Steve snorted.

“Nah, they’re all doing something for the holidays.” Steve finished his drink in one sip. “You?”

“Yeah, Becca, our friends, and, um, my boyfriend, Noel.” Bucky averted his eyes but felt Steve’s gaze on him. He risked a glance, but Steve’s expression was unreadable. The moment was interrupted by the bartender sliding from the back to bring a tray of drinks to Bucky’s table. 

He glanced over at them, America’s arm slung over Becca’s shoulder and MJ’s hand intertwined with Peter and Ned’s as they talked animatedly with Gwen and Miles. Noel was quiet, smiling and he glanced back at the bar and caught Bucky’s eye. His smile dimmed a little when his gaze flickered over Steve, and Bucky cleared his throat and turned to Steve. 

“I should get going. Um, have a nice night, Steve,” he said, stealing one more glance at the table. 

“You too, Bucky.” Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder and turned back to the bar, signaling for a drink. Bucky dropped down next to Noel, who glanced at Steve.

“Who was that?” he asked as Bucky reached for a beer. 

“Um, no one. Just an old friend.” Bucky smiled, and Noel hesitated before he gave Bucky a soft smile and kissed him. As Bucky took a drink from his beer, Becca raised an eyebrow at him, unsubtly glancing at Steve and training her judgemental gaze back at Bucky. He ignored her glare and turned to MJ, and Becca apparently dropped it as she continued her conversation with Noel.

**Part Two- March 17th, 2019**

“What are you guys doing this week?” Becca called from the couch, still in sweats past noon. “If you’re baking, I want cookies.” Her head popped up from the cushions. “Chocolate chip.”

“We literally just made those, Becca. I suggested oatmeal raisin this time.” Becca wrinkled her nose. Alpine emerged from the bedroom and jumped up on the island. Bucky paused his search for keys to try and get her on the ground.

“Gross, that’s just chocolate chip’s sad cousin.” Becca dropped back on the couch, switching the TV on and channel surfing. Bucky sighed, and dropped Alpine, who landed perfectly and padded towards Becca. 

“Don’t you have an apartment of your own to blast, what is that, Murder She Wrote?” Becca groaned and dragged herself into a sitting position and picked Alpine up, cooing at her a little before answering Bucky. 

“America’s parents are coming tonight, they want to meet me.” Bucky paused his pat-down for his keys.

“That sounds kind of important, why are you here? You guys have been dating for, what, eight years? And you still haven’t met her parents?” Becca groaned and dropped her head in her hands. Alpine meowed and bumped her head against Becca’s. 

“First of all, it’s been nine and half years, second of all, no I haven’t. They’re  _ intensely _ Catholic, like, almost as bad as mom, Catholic.” Becca sighed and turned to Alpine, who meowed in her face. 

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. It’s not like they don’t know I exist, we’re just waiting for them to be in the perfect mood before she tells them that her roommate and her girlfriend are the same person,” she said. 

“Then, and I say this with love, go wait in your own apartment. You keep clogging up my Netflix account with your old lady shows,” Bucky complained, and Becca gasped, startling Alpine off of her lap.

“Murder She Wrote is  _ not _ an old lady show. And anyways, what am I clogging up, Grey’s Anatomy.” Bucky flushed and threw the kitchen towel he was holding at Becca, who caught it and threw it right back.

“Shut up, it’s a guilty pleasure,” he grumbled, “and that’s not the point, the point is I’m leaving for Sarah’s, and I don’t want you stinking up my apartment and leaving America to suffer.”

“She’s not suffering,” Becca insisted, “she’s spending quality time with her family.” Bucky gave her a pointed look, and Becca sighed. “Okay, fine, but you’re dropping me off.” 

Bucky grinned and pulled his keys out from a rogue cushion, patting Becca on the head and mussing up her hair in the process. “Yeah, yeah, princess, just put on something presentable first.” Becca grumbled under her breath and pushed Alpine off her lap, then grabbed her clothes from the spare bedroom and changed. 

After Bucky dropped her off, he started the drive to Sarah’s. After a few years of it, he’d memorized the route. It took around an hour, but when he pulled into the same sidewalk he’d been parking in for years, he noticed a new car in front of his. Bucky pulled out his phone for any texts from Sarah, but all he had was a random meme that Miles had sent in the group chat. He pocketed his phone and rang the doorbell. He was inspecting the wilting flowers on the windowsill, when the door swung open.

“Bucky?” He whipped his head around and Steve Rogers looked right back.

“Steve, what are you doing here?” Bucky took a moment to survey the other man; he was a wreck. Stained t-shirt, old sweatpants, bloodshot eyes and greasy hair. He looked exhausted.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Steve’s voice held a tinge of anger. 

“This is a normal thing, Sarah and I usually hang out once a month, where is she?” Steve sighed, and he seemingly filed away what Bucky had said to deal with on another day.

“She was in a car crash. Ma, she didn’t make it,” Steve said, looking Bucky straight in the eye. “She’s dead.”

“When did it happen?” Bucky asked. He’d since moved inside to the same couch he remembered having movie nights on with Steve and Sarah as a teen. He pushed the memories out of his mind and accepted a cup of coffee from Sam, who dropped down next to him. Steve was in her bedroom, taking some calls to start preparing for the funeral. 

“Thursday, drunk driver. He’s planning the funeral for next week, sent out emails and shit to anyone that should know,” Sam replied, and the doorbell rang. He sighed, “That’ll be another neighbor.” Sam got up and opened the door, politely conversing with a neighbor, before closing the door with a platter in his hands.

“Xavier from down the street gave us a sandwich tray. Probably for the best, all the other casseroles we’ve gotten are inedible.” Bucky snorted and Sam dropped the plate on the dining table before taking a seat. 

“How’s he been taking it?” Bucky asked, followed by a sip of coffee. Sam sighed again, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing his face. 

“Not well. He doesn’t eat without a reminder, and even then takes two bites before zoning out. He just spends his time planning or stuck in that room crying. I don’t know if he’s gonna make it through this.” Bucky inhaled sharply.

“Don’t. Don’t say that.”

Sam gave him a pointed look. “Look, man, you didn’t see him after the divorce. He was a fucking wreck. This?” Sam gestured around the room, and Bucky took a moment to follow the movement. He hadn’t noticed when he first walked in, but it really was a mess. The dining table was piled with casserole dishes and the coffee table was covered with rogue pens, computers, and packets to sign. “You know how close they were, I don’t know if he can handle this right now. I don’t think he was ever going to be able to handle this. Fuck, I don’t even know if he’s slept since,” Sam exclaimed. 

“Do you think he’d try talking to a grief counselor or something?” Bucky suggested.

“I tried, I have a few colleagues that have a slot to see him. But right now, he’s just dead set on figuring out the funeral.” Bucky nodded and leaned back on the sofa.

“Fuck,” he said, with a laugh, and Sam shot him a confused look. “She’s really gone, isn’t she? It’s not just a trip or a disease, no, she’s fucking dead.” Bucky dropped his head in his hands, and his bitter laughter soon turned to sobs. Sam sat next to him, silent and exhausted, and placed a hand on his shoulder. They sat like that for a while, until Bucky’s cries tapered off into sniffles and Sam had moved to make some tea in the kitchen. 

Bucky got up and joined him, quietly unwrapping a sandwich and moving it onto a plate to feel productive. He heated up some leftover soup from the fridge, presumably made by Sarah, and set out three bowls. Sam cleared some space at the table and the two ate, silently, minds wandering. Afterwards, Sam washed up and Bucky moved to clean the living room, organizing the papers and rearranging the pillows on the sofas. 

“Bucky?” Steve’s, whose voice was filled with anger just hours ago and was now filled with something akin to disbelief and exhaustion, looked at Bucky all bleary-eyed as he stumbled out of his old bedroom. 

“Ah, I was just clearing up a little. Have you been working this whole time?” he asked. Steve’s expression was still stuck on confusion as his gaze scanned the now tidied room, throw pillows arranged on either side of the couch the way Sarah used to. 

“Um, yeah. Yeah, just finishing up arrangements with the lawyer and will. She’ll probably come tomorrow. What are you still doing here?” he asked, and Bucky flushed.

“Sorry, I should probably head out,” he stuttered, ducking his head and moving to grab his jacket. Steve grabbed him by the arm and stopped him.

“No, no, um, that came out wrong. It’s, just, you didn’t have to stay,” he finished, not loosening his grip. Bucky finally looked up at Steve, brows furrowed and mouth turned down into a frown.

“Steve, she was more of a mother to me than my own  _ mom _ . I’m happy to help, more than happy, if you’re okay with that. There’s really nothing I could do in return for everything she did for me, when I was a teenager, and now.” Steve’s grimace softened and he sighed. 

“That would actually be really great, yeah.” He stifled a yawn as he moved to grab his computer.

“Woah,” Bucky pulled Steve away by the shoulder, “you’re not touching that thing until you eat something and take a nap.” 

“Bucky, no, I’m fine.” Steve cut himself off with another yawn and Bucky gave him a disbelieving look. Steve’s resolve dropped and he nodded, trudging to the dining table. Once he fell asleep (he’d protested for a bit but passed out as soon as he touched the mattress) Bucky helped Sam pack up the leftover food from the earlier days. He went through Sarah’s address book, using Steve’s computer to send out the remaining emails. Bucky was almost through the Q-section when he was interrupted by a buzzing and pulled his phone out of his pocket, noticing three missed calls from Becca. 

“Sorry, I have to get this.” Sam nodded and Bucky stepped outside, picking up the call. “Hey, Becca.”

“Hey, I think I left my sweater at your place last night, can I come pick it up?” she asked. Bucky heard loud laughter in the background.

“Um, sure, I’m not home yet, though.” 

“What, why? It’s, like, five o’clock.”

“Yeah, um, something happened. We can talk tomorrow,” he started.

“What happened? Is everything okay?” Becca asked, concern leaking into her voice.

“Becca, you’re with America and her parents right now?”

“Yeah, why?”

Bucky sighed. “Listen, enjoy your night, we’ll talk tomorrow.” He hung up on her midway through her protests and tried not to imagine her anger tomorrow. He stepped back inside and walked to where Steve was sleeping, lightly knocking on the door. When he didn’t hear a response, he cracked open the door, peering inside. 

Sarah had since converted the bedroom into a guest room, but some of Steve’s stuff still remained. Old action figures were lined up on the dusty shelves, opposite the window, and Steve’s old desk still had small doodles from when they got bored doing homework. Old paint brushes and palettes poked out from under the desk, and Bucky pulled out one of Steve’s old sketchbooks, flipping through park scenes and portraits of Sarah. Steve rustled in the bed, poking his head out from under the covers. It was a comical sight; Steve was, by all means, far too big for the bed, and his feet hung over the edge of the frame. Bucky snorted, setting down the sketchbook.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” he teased. Steve flushed and threw a spare pillow at Bucky, who caught it, and set it down on the desk chair. “How are you feeling?”

Steve groaned, “Tired.” He stretched, back cracking. “You?”

Bucky smiled, albeit sadly. “As good as I can be right now. Do you mind if I crash here for the night?” Steve shook his head and looked up at Bucky, hesitating before he spoke. 

“Do you remember your sixteenth birthday, back in sophomore year?” Bucky paused to remember before he grinned at the memory.

“Yeah, um, my parents were out of town for some business trip, Becca was at a sleepover, so I stayed here and your mom made us play paintball.” Bucky laughed. “Didn’t you trip and break your arm?” Steve nodded between laughs.

“Yeah, and you told everyone I won a fight because you felt bad.” Their laughs faded into a comfortable silence.

“She really was an amazing person, Steve.”

Steve sighed, and his voice cracked when he replied, “I know.” 

Bucky eyed the open sketchbook on the desk, open on a watercolor painting of Sarah and Bucky. It was slightly amateur, but held a charm to it. Maybe it’s because Steve painted it with an artist’s eye, looking for the beauty in his subjects to reflect on the paper and ignoring the flaws in favor of their smiles. His gaze flitted back to Steve, who was staring off into space, eyes glazed over. 

Bucky sighed, “I’ll let you get some more sleep.” He didn’t hear Steve’s murmured reply, instead closed the door and leaned against the frame, staring at the opposite wall. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes, Sam stared back at him, unimpressed.

“Jesus,” he started. Sam didn’t reply, just raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Look, Bucky, I know you and Steve were really close for a really long time, and I’m sorry things ended between you guys, I am,” Sam said.

“Wait, where is this going?” Bucky said, realization dawning.

“I don’t know if you’re still holding a flame for him or something, but now isn’t the time to get back together with him, okay?” Bucky flushed and he felt a surge of anger. He pushed it down, taking a deep breath and steeling himself. 

“He made his decision, Sam. I respect it, I always have, But there was a ring in my pocket that night. The universe already let me know it was never gonna happen, I don’t need you to tell me that too.” Sam’s scowl morphed into disbelief, then regret.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” he started.

“No one does, well,” Bucky laughed bitterly, “no one but Sarah. And don’t apologize, I mean, you know him better than I do, you’re just trying to protect him. It’s kind of unnecessary, but you mean well.” Sam nodded with a smile.

“Don’t think this soppy shit gets your ass out of doing the dishes though,” he called over his shoulder as he headed back to the kitchen and Bucky threw back his head and laughed.

  
  


**(Tea With Sarah by[iBuckyBarnes](https://ibuckybarnes.tumblr.com))**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve's mom died in a car crash; in the second half of the chapter, Bucky finds out and talks to Steve about Sarah and they reminisce on their time with her.


	8. Chapter 8: June 18th, 2020

**Chapter 8: June 18th, 2020**

Bucky checked his phone three times for a text from Steve before sighing and pocketing it. He glanced at the clock for the hundredth time and almost took his phone out again to call a cab before he heard someone shout his name from behind him. He turned and Steve barrelled into him with a hug. He stumbled backwards but returned the embrace and Steve pulled back absolutely  _ beaming _ .

“Okay, I know I’m late and I’m really sorry but you’ll never believe what just happened!” Steve looked like a puppy, practically vibrating with excitement.

“I have no idea but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.” Bucky laughed.

“Thor and Bruce got engaged!” Bucky’s jaw dropped. 

“No shit, really?” Steve nodded with a laugh. “I didn’t even know they were dating!” 

“I don’t think anyone knew, besides Tony. He’s the one who told me, said something about ‘Science Bros’.” Bucky snorted and threw an arm around Steve’s shoulder as they headed inside the art gallery. 

“You’re really late, but I think Kamala’s been kind of overwhelmed by visitors so I don’t think she noticed.” Steve laughed and Bucky shushed him as the rest of the museum-dwellers shot them nasty looks at the echo. They rolled their eyes and Bucky grabbed a map to try and navigate to the West Wing. 

“Ah, there it is!” Steve called a little too loudly, grabbing Bucky by the arm and dragging him over to Kamala who gave them a nervous little wave. 

“Hey guys, thanks for coming!” she exclaimed, pulling both of them into a close hug. “Everyone here is kind of stuck-up, I think a professor from a local university told them to come here as an assignment, but someone gave me their card so I think I’m doing well.” Steve laughed and they launched into a conversation about annoying art students. Bucky stayed quiet, listening in with a soft smile. As Kamala talked them through her pieces, he caught the eye of a familiar face.

“Wanda?” he called, and she broke into a grin. 

“Bucky, Steve, hey!” Steve turned mid-rant and smiled.

“Hey! Um, Kamala,” he turned to her, “this is Wanda, Wanda, Kamala. God it’s been a while hasn’t it?” She nodded, shaking Kamala’s hand and turned back to Steve and Bucky. 

“I think the last time I saw you guys was graduation, when was that, 2008? God, I miss being a drunk college student.” Kamala snorted and removed herself from the conversation, noting Miles and Gwen’s arrival. “So, are you guys here together?” she asked, a curious glint in her eye. 

“Yeah, Kamala has a few pieces here and we wanted to support her,” Bucky said.

“Ah, nice to know there’s a couple that lasted out of college,” she joked with a laugh and Bucky and Steve looked back at her with blank stares. “You guys are still dating, right?” she asked, brows furrowed and smile fading. 

“Oh, um, no, just friends,” Bucky clarified, flushed and laughing awkwardly. 

“We were dating, in college,” Steve explained, “but, um, we broke it off a while ago.” Wanda’s eyes widened and she blushed. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just assumed,” she stuttered, gesturing to the two of them before dropping her hands, “sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Steve said with a laugh, and his gaze flickered over to Kamala, who was talking to Miles. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m just gonna go catch up with them.” He ducked out of the conversation leaving a flustered Bucky and Wanda. 

“Um, how’s Pietro?” Wanda’s embarrassment as she started to ramble on about her brother’s athletic career. Bucky was only half paying attention, mind still stuck on a question: why? What about Steve and Bucky made her think they were dating? Was it the way they were standing? The way they were talking? Was it just because she knew them when they were dating and assumed that’s the only reason they were together? He nodded when appropriate, letting out “yeah”s and “oh, really?”s when necessary. 

“I thought that the painting with the swan was nice, but I’m really curious why they chose to do a snowy background,” Steve continued on his ramble as they entered Bucky’s apartment. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to the artist, but I think Kamala knows them so I’ll probably get her to bug them about it. Oh, hey, Alpine!” he stooped down to give her a pat but she ducked away before he could. 

Bucky absentmindedly moved to the kitchen, pulling out two mugs and barely paying attention to Steve. He filled both with water and put one in the microwave. 

“Hey, Bucky, you gonna put a teabag in that?” Steve asked with a smirk and Bucky blinked, realizing his mistake. 

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” he said.

“Where’s your head? You’ve been all ditzy today,” Steve teased and Bucky responded with a halfhearted smile. “Is it what Wanda said? I can’t say I blame her, even when we were in high school, we were joined at the hip,” Steve contemplated and Bucky stiffened before pulling the milk out of the fridge. It didn’t go unnoticed as he hoped it would. “Is that really it?” Bucky sighed and turned around with a shrug.

“I don’t know, Steve, didn’t it bother you?” he exclaimed, a little frazzled. Steve furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Why would it bother me?” Bucky scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t know, it’s stupid,” he said, looking down at the island and fiddling with his mug. 

“Bucky, if there’s something you want to say, just say it,” Steve said, frustration in his tone. Bucky took a deep breath and fixed his stare on the ground.

“Just, we were friends for, what, over twenty years, right? Not just friends for that entire time either, and then you threw it away.” Bucky’s anger flared and he let all his frustration and anger from the last few years flood out in his words.

“I threw it away?  _ You’re _ the one who threw away whatever relationship we could’ve had and I don’t even know why!” Steve exclaimed. “It’s like you were just waiting for it to end, I mean, right before that dinner, in the months leading up to it, you were always on eggshells! You were always so nervous and hesitant to do or say  _ anything _ , before we started dating too. I felt like I didn’t even know you, Bucky.”

“Because I knew I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t expecting it to end, Steve, I was trying to make it last forever,” Bucky grit out, still not looking Steve in the eye.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked. Bucky sighed and disappeared into his room. He came out with something small clenched in his fist, and he dropped it on the countertop. Steve paled and stuttered out something between an apology and asking for an explanation, staring at the ring in front of him. It’s simple, a thick, plain silver band with a diamond studded in the middle. 

“You can keep it,” Bucky spat. 

“Bucky-”

“No. No,  _ this  _ is what was burning a hole in my pocket as you told me the truth, what you really wanted. And the worst part?” Bucky laughed bitterly. “I saw it coming, and I let it happen. I know I’m a fuck-up, Steve. I knew that when you left and married Peggy fucking Carter, and I want so badly to resent you, to hate you. I mean, you hurt me, and you left me, and you let us wither away and I  _ can’t fucking blame you. _ I can’t even be angry at you because you were right. You were right then and you’re right now.” Bucky didn’t even realize he was crying until he brought his hand up to push his hair out of his face and felt the hot tears. “Just get out, Steve.”

“I-”  
“Get out!” Bucky yelled, finally looking up at Steve. His eyes were wide and glassy but he listened, quietly closing the door behind him as he left. Bucky leaned back against the countertop, squeezing his eyes shut to stop himself from crying. He slid down and dropped his head in his hands. He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard the door open and Becca’s soft “Bucky? What’s wrong?” as she crouched down next to him and waved off Natasha and America. 

“I fucked up, Becca, I fucked up,” he repeated, over and over again, and she sat with him, pressed against the cabinets with the handles digging into their backs on the crumb-littered ground. She sat and she let him cry and vaguely understood what had happened through words she caught in between sobs and beckoned Natasha to grab the mug of tea he’d left on the counter. At some point, she moved him into his room and he fell asleep with little tossing and turning. 

When he woke up, voice hoarse and eyes puffy, he shuffled into the kitchen. A few rays of light were cast on the counter where a cup of coffee sat for him. Natasha, America, and Becca were all whispering to one another with hushed voices, and when they heard him, America exchanged glances with the other two. “Do you mind if I jump in the shower?” she asked, not really sure who to direct the question to. 

Bucky nodded, “Sure, you know where the guest bathroom is.” America smiled and walked past them, shooting a concerned glance back at them. Bucky sighed, took a sip of coffee, and dropped into a seat. “Go ahead, psychoanalyze me,” he joked. It fell flat as Nat and Becca gave him disbelieving looks. 

“Bucky, I love you, but what the fuck was that?” Becca asked and Bucky winced at the harshness. Her glare dropped and her tone softened, “I’m just worried about you. I mean, I know you guys are close, but what happened?” 

“Becca, you know the story, Nat, I’m sure she filled you in.” Natasha nodded. “Just, now Steve knows it too,” he said nonchalantly, taking another sip of his coffee. “He also knows about the ring,” Bucky added, and Natasha and Becca choke on their tea.

“The what?” Nat exclaimed. Bucky shrugged, fiddling with a blanket thrown on the sofa. 

“The ring. The night he broke up with me, it wasn’t mutual. He dumped me, it sounds juvenile, but it’s what happened. He just happened to dump me on the same night that I was planning to propose to him,” Bucky finished, gaze dropping to the table. 

“You never told me that!” Becca cried, slightly betrayed, but surprised more than anything. Bucky shrugged.

“The only people who know, well  _ knew _ , are Sarah, Sam, and now Steve.” Natasha and Becca exchanged another glance and Bucky groaned. “Stop doing that!”

“Doing what?” Becca asked.

“The thing!” he exclaimed, gesturing to the two of them. “The looks!” Natasha sighed and set down her mug. 

“Listen, Bucky, Becca and I talked last night and we think that you should talk this out,” she started, and Bucky cut her off with a groan.

“Ugh, I’m never speaking to Steve again,” he whined. 

“Not Steve, a professional,” Becca said. Bucky blinked at both of them, processing their request.

“What, like a therapist?” Becca nodded.

“Exactly like a therapist.” Bucky exhaled sharply.

“I’m not crazy, guys, I don’t need to see a shrink,” he argued, but stopped when Natasha glared at him.

“You’re not crazy, but, from everything I’ve heard about you and Steve, not all of it is to do with Steve,” Becca said.

“Yeah, full offense, your low self-esteem is through the roof and very concerning,” Natasha added. 

“Plus our homophobic parents probably didn’t help,” Becca pondered, prompting a snort from Nat and Bucky. He sighed and mulled over it for a moment.

“Fine,” he agreed, “But only if it gets you guys off my back.” Becca let out a breath and smiled.

“I’ll take that.” Nat grinned. “And, I’ll keep Steve off your back, but you two do have to talk this out eventually.” Bucky rolled his eyes but nodded with a small smile. 

**Six Months Later**

Bucky felt a sense of déjà vu as he glanced at the clock in the restaurant again. He wanted to meet Steve somewhere neutral in the hopes that he wouldn’t completely melt down but he was starting to regret his decision. To be somewhere so public felt too vulnerable, too exposed. He took a deep breath, smiling at the waitress who brought over iced water and free bread. Bucky grabbed a straw cover and began wrapping it around his finger until it snapped, tearing it up into tiny pieces. When Steve finally slid into the seat across from him, his nerves were wracked and his chest felt tight. Bucky took a deep breath before schooling his expression into a polite smile, exchanging in small talk until the waitress took their order. 

“So, I’m assuming I’m not just here for a free lunch,” Steve joked, but his voice was quiet and shaky. Bucky should’ve felt on edge but the familiarity of Steve helped loosen the tightness in his chest. He laughed instead, softly, but enough to see Steve’s lips quirk up into a smile. 

“No. I, um, I felt bad, about the last time we. Spoke, I guess. I mean, I didn’t really let you say anything. I mean, I feel like we should talk. About everything,” Bucky rambled

“If I’m being honest, the entire time we were together, I just thought you were distant because you weren’t interested. I mean, when I was with Peggy, we were in love. But we were too different. When I saw you, at the wedding, I felt so bad because I think a part of me still loved you. I mean, I was standing there, with my wife, and all I could think about was you. I still thought about you after, if we stayed friends. If you were still around, something tells me Peggy and I wouldn’t have lasted as long as we did.

“She started as a rebound, I think we both knew that. But over time, I eventually separated my feelings for you from my feelings for her. She was new, and confident and bold, and she was kind of like a spark, you know? We burned bright, but it was over quickly, and all that was left were ashes. We’re still friends, of course, but Peggy and I were never meant to last.” 

“What, and we were?” Bucky snorted, but Steve’s gaze was so sincere.

“Maybe not then, but now, maybe we can. For everything Peggy and I had in common, we’d argue all the time. We were too similar, too compatible. But me and you, we argue, but the only thing that really led to the end of us was our own insecurities. We both know better, now.”

“Is this your way of asking if I want to try again?” Steve shrugged with a blush.

“If you’ll have me.” Bucky sighed, and leaned back into his seat.

“I’ve probably held a flame for you since we met. I mean, I only realized sometime in high school, but I loved you so much it hurt. I don’t know, I was always so  _ afraid _ that I wasn’t enough. I mean, you were always so good, and kind, getting into all sorts of fights because you weren’t afraid to call someone out on their bullshit. The entire time we were together, it felt like the best thing in the world, but I was always so afraid someone was going to pull the rug out from under my feet. That one day I’d wake up and find out this was all some elaborate joke. Buying that ring felt like stepping off a cliff, and then you left.” 

Bucky paused and laughed to himself. “You know, I wanted to hate Peggy so badly when I saw you two together, without even knowing her. But then I saw you laugh and I realized I’d rather walk through hell and back then take away someone who made you happy. You know, that night, your mom gave me her number, and that’s when we started hanging out. She was the first person I told about the ring, actually. She was the kindest person I knew and, god, she was the mother I wish I had. She was my mother more than Winifred ever was, to me and to Becca.” Bucky paused and sighed, taking a quick sip of water.

“When you came back into my life, it was like being in college again. Pining over someone who was too good for me. Becca and Nat finally convinced me to see a therapist, you know. It wasn’t all you,” he emended, “I mean, I don’t blame you. For anything. Most of it was internal. But, you know, with my parents, and after we broke up, I didn’t really talk to anyone until Becca moved in with me, and I just adopted her entire friend group. I went through a rough time, and I think it’s getting better. I’m not saying you didn’t hurt me, but you didn’t do it on purpose. You never have. But, if after my monologue, you want to give this a chance again, I’d like that.” Bucky smiled at Steve, who reached out and intertwined their hands.

“So would I.”


End file.
